


Disobedience

by StylisticMoods



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fanfiction, Medieval, Royalty, kingdom - Freeform, secrecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 88,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StylisticMoods/pseuds/StylisticMoods
Summary: Book One of the Rebellion Trilogy:Secrecy can only last so long before it's foundation crumbles. Prince Harry has a lot of secrets in his life--many that he's not proud of, and one that he cherishes but is far too ashamed to share. Disobedience can only go so far when you're a prince that's hopelessly in love with one of your family's servants.





	1. One*

**Author's Note:**

> Although this work involves Harry Styles as a Prince, cliches will be extensively limited and he will not be the usual fluffy and cute Harry a Prince is expected to be. On that note, I have not gone through editing yet so please bear with some repeated images/metaphors etc as they will soon be revised once I have finished the entire draft of the novel itself. Happy reading, I look forward to hearing your thoughts :)

 

_Soft flowers fill the air with sweet perfumes and delicate petals that have been swept away by the breeze. Youthful laughter floats through the garden as eight-year-old Harry chases seven-year old Brielle around the bursting blooms, swimming with warm crimson and brash pinks._

_“Stop it, Harry!”_

_A grin spreads over his lips, dimples adorning his cheeks like Princess Castellana’s favourite painting: Flowers at Midnight. “I will when you kiss me!”_

_Brielle makes a gagging sound that only serves to brighten their laughter. “Never!”_

_“Why not!?”_

_Mae and Lilly, Harry’s nursemaids who spend more time in the river with the linens than they do keeping an eye on Harry, pass by with the laundry. Harry isn’t paying attention to anything but Brielle and just escapes knocking the two over as he skids to take a shortcut around the rose bushes. He’s almost an entire three inches taller than Brielle and can see her frizzy brown hair peek through the vibrant roses._

_“Because I know where your mouth has been!” He’s always off tasting any food he can get his hands on, regardless of how it looks. Brielle is certain he’s already eaten at least two strange things today._

_Emerald eyes roll as he laughs and wills his legs to push him faster. If only he was riding one of the mares, their long legs and giant bodies would make for a quick and easy catch._

_Brielle runs far too fast for someone shorter than him. She’s lithe too, like the birds that race through the sky and flit between trees._

_Too invested in their banter, neither one is paying too much attention to the dwindling distance between them. Harry doesn’t see Brielle rounding the corner and sends her sprawling into the pliant dirt, stepped on by countless servants tending to the garden._

_Unlike most girls her age, Brielle laughs as her hands latch around Harry’s tunic to help her feet steady themselves again. “You’re a devil.”_

_Pristine white teeth gleam in response, “Only if you say so.”_   
_Brielle loves moments like these, where she doesn’t have to help her mother wash dishes or sew the hems of various garments that she’ll never see again. Exploring the castle with Harry is much more fun and her fingers never bleed from the sharp sting of a needle. Since there aren’t many children that live within the castle walls, Harry is the only one she can have fun with who won’t tell her to lower her voice or that playing with boys isn’t proper for young girls. He’s the only friend she has and he’s been there for as long as she can remember. Mae says they’ve been friends since they were babies, but Brielle doesn’t think that’s possible considering he was already a year old when she was an infant and babies can’t interact like that. Not that she knows of, anyway._

_Blood rushes to her cheeks and burns bright like the sea of flowers that surrounds them. “You know I don’t.”_

_Small hands that are already beginning to callous release his tunic and clasp together behind her back. “Why do you want to kiss me, anyhow?” She thinks about it when she sees her parents kiss during small moments that don’t ever seem very romantic. Will it be as gross as it looks when the adults do it? How will it be if Harry kisses her instead of some strange, unknown boy she will be promised to one day for land or money, or both?_

_Harry’s teeth disappear behind a shy smile that leans a little too far to the left. “Dunno, just do.” He waits for a moment longer than necessary, ensuring that he has the nerve to say what he wants to. Brielle makes him want to say everything at once and nothing at all and he can never tell which option is the right one. Gilbert is always instructing him to change the subject whenever he is uncomfortable or does not wish to answer something, but mastering that with Brielle has proven to be impossible. “May I?”_

_Gentle blue eyes waver, faltering between faded brown shoes, riddled with holes and the earth of her ancestors beneath her feet. She wants to let him kiss her. Every time he’s around these strange and wonderful tremors run through her chest and singe her nerves. But should she? First kisses are important matters and he’ll have a claim on her for the rest of their lives._

_Answering the way she wants to takes all the courage she has to meet his eyes and defy the urge to run away in another fit of giggles. “All right.”_

_Harry is smiling at her the way he does when he’s teaching her how to write in cursive beneath the oak tree on the farthest corner of the grounds. There’s something about that particular smile that sets fires in her cheeks and makes her want to conceal her face._

_A thousand things are running circles in his head: which place is better to place his lips? Will she remember? Can Gilbert teach him the proper way to court her in between etiquette lessons? The sweet perfume of the flowers is making him dizzy. Brielle’s eyes are bright like the pools of water that line the meadow after a great rain has passed, and he finds himself wanting to explore their depths during every hour of the day._

_He’s staring for far too long and she’s starting to have second thoughts. Perhaps she took too long to answer and he’s changed his mind? He does that often, it wouldn’t be strange behavior...Did he even want to kiss her in the first place? Has he finally realized the difference between them?_

_Birds chirp merrily as they flit between rose bushes and sing their morning song to one another. Brielle’s curious eyes follow their graceful movements as if they’ll never dance the same way again. She likes to watch them, their beautiful wings open to the horizon, awaiting a journey that always has the possibility of taking them somewhere new. Lips that taste like salted-caramel connect with hers for all of a moment before retracting as if she had stung them._

_Cheeks flushed from running all over the grounds flush a shade deeper, Harry’s complection is a near match to the roses. Brielle’s nose scrunches in the same manner it does when her mother makes her eat her carrots. Neither one blinks as Brielle raises a hand to her lips and triest to wipe away an invisible stain._

_Although she liked the sweet and salty residue from the sweets he’d obviously been sneaking, the very idea that he’d kissed her was still foreign and somewhat nauseating. Harry doesn’t find anything about their brief encounter objectionable. He rather enjoyed the feel of her chapped lips against his, even if only for a fleeting moment._

_A joyous laugh escapes his lips as he watches Brielle scrub her lips as if he’s given her a disease. “Was it really that awful?”_

_She tries to glare at him but a smile breaks through as her hands fall to her sides and her fingers linger above her dress. “Yes.” A lie._

_Harry wears a mischievous smile as he pokes her side, well aware of her fabrication. Her laugh isn’t like the others that he’s heard, it’s light and carries like the wind despite it’s often loud nature, and he loves to hear it as often as possible. He tries to remember it most while he’s away being paraded in front of royals who only care about his name._

_Brielle trips in her haste to avoid him, her laughter beautiful as she backs into the barbed rose bushes. “Stop that!”_

_She knows he’s heard her, but he acts as if he hasn’t heard a single word and swoops in to try for another kiss. Brielle knows better and fists her hands in his tunic. Instead of the second kiss he was hoping for, he ends up with hic back flat against the ground and a solitary rose petal in his hair._

_Brielle falls with him, but she lands inside the rose bush, sharp thorns piercing her skin. Crimson drops scatter on her arms and crystalline tears fill her eyes. Harry doesn’t know what to do. He hates it when she cries, more so when it’s his fault. The last time he made her cry was when he broke the doll she made from twigs. From the moment the tears fell, iron surrounded his heart and forced it to his toes. He bought her the finest doll in the market and wove flowers into her hair to make it up to her._

_All he sees are the roses. With gentle fingers, he plucks one just above her head. Her whimpers cease at once as he offers her the delicate flower, ripe with life and color._

_Confusion replaces sadness as she looks up at him with glossy eyes, her hands gripping her arms with such force he’s certain there will be bruises. “Why are you giving me a rose?”_

_Harry smiles and wraps her hand around his in a manner that leaves her holding the flower instead. “Mother always says pretty girls deserve flowers.”_

_Brielle returns his smile and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Do pretty girls deserve average flowers?”_

_The look on his face reminds her of the time when his mother asked if he’d put on a clean pair of trousers in front of her and all the other servants. “Roses are average, every girl recieves them. I like them, but I love those little pink flowers that grow in the fields and under rocks.”_

_Easy laughter floats on the breeze. Brielle has never liked the same things as the other girls, always preferring the opposite either out of stubborness or nature. Where other girls would be offended when receiving pretty weeds, she adores them. “Of course you do. Would you prefer chocolates to salted-caramels, too?”_

_“Absolutely not! Did you forget to bring me some this time?”_

_Harry grins and pulls a neatly wrapped piece of caramel from his pocket. He’s successfully distracted her from the pain and the blood and he feels like he can do anything now that he’s made her smile again._

_“When do I not bring you one after I sneak sweets?”_

_The Queen doesn’t allow him to have sweets very often, and he likes to slip into the kitchen and snag a few while the servants are pretending not to look. He’s not permitted in the kitchens, no matter the reason, yet he insists on venturing down there regardless. Ever since he’s started, he saves the last one for Brielle._

_She accepts the candy a little too quickly. Harry doesn’t notice and perhaps he never has. While he sits beside his father at a feast fit for twenty, she sits beside her parents and prays the soup will have chicken. His clothes glisten in the sunlight while hers are dull amongst the dirt._

_As she savors the small candy, Harry sits beside her and watches the birds dance, a content smile on his lips. “I’m going to marry you someday.” He understands the rules will not bend for him, Prince or not, but she will be the woman he marries. His mother told him a Prince can do whatever he pleases and even more when he is King, who will stop him from marrying the girl who likes pink weeds and watching the sky?_

_Brielle’s smile fades like the day bleeds into night. Harry is her best friend, but even he must know marrying her is impossible. She knows it’s impossible and she is a year below him. Her eyes linger on her faded shoes, “You can’t.”_

_The birds are no longer interesting. “Why not?”_

_Brielle does not answer him right away. Harry scoots closer to her and asks again, louder, in hopes that she will at least look at him. “Elle, what do you mean? Why can’t I marry you?”_

_Sadness consumes her features and drowns her eyes in gray storm clouds ready to release a torrential downpour. He doesn’t think he wants her to look at him anymore._

_“Haven’t you noticed yet?”_

_A tremble forces its way to his vocal cords. Of course he knows that she isn’t like him: isn’t like his family. She wears the opposite clothing and sleeps on the opposite side of the castle, but that doesn’t matter because he likes her as she is. “Noticed what?”_

_Brielle smears the blood around her arms, trying to force it back in but only spreading it further. “I’m not like you. I never have been. You’re the Prince and I’m...I’m on of your family’s servants. We aren’t even supposed to be friends.”_

_Heavy tears break free and roll down her cheeks. All the words Harry’s ever learned are stuck in his throat. Church bells toll in the distance, announcing the evening service._

_“I don’t understand...Mother says I can have whatever I please when I am King. Why can’t I have you as my Queen?”_

_Brielle doesn’t quite understand all the laws herself, but she does know that what he’s promising is impractical. Her mother told her that if he wanted to marry someone of a lower caste, he wouldn’t be allowed to take his father’s place as King of Alaria. And his parents will forbid it regardless._

_Harry’s dreamed of stepping into his father’s shoes and making everyone proud of him for as long as she’s known him. She can’t let him throw that away for her. She won’t._

_“If you don’t marry a Princess, you can’t be King.”_

_“Won’t you be a Princess if I marry you?”_

_She shakes her head and returns to looking at the birds. Harry frowns and follows her gaze. Such graceful, beautiful creatures free to do as they please--free like he thought he was. He’s never notice the difference between himself and Brielle the way he should. She’s always been an equal to him--a loyal friend, a pretty girl, never anything less. What should caste or bloodlines have to do with it? Everyone else in Alaria can choose who they want to marry, so why can’t he?_

_The thought of not being able to choose her introduces a foreign, consuming pressure to his chest. He wonders if this is what it feels like to be stoned to death. “I’m going to marry you, Elle. I don’t care if I lose everything. I won’t be happy if you’re not there.”_

Footsteps echo like thunder in the empty hallways. Most of the staff has gone to bed, aside from the guards. And, although the halls are unusually vacant, the palace has never felt more full. The guards have just begun to change rotation, making their way through the castle like ghosts as they take another’s place. Harry memorized their schedule years ago to ensure they could meet without the interference of prying eyes and ears. Even so, Brielle allows her fingers to find distraction in her fraying dress. He hasn’t been the same for the last three years, hiding his face in her hair more than he kisses her and disappearing after spending only a few short minutes with her. Granted, his responsibilities have increased over the years and even more so since he’s chosen to remain unwed long after a Prince should be married. He’s tired, as should be expected.

Brielle has no reason to be as nervous as she is. He’s called her to his chambers and she is only doing her job. There is nothing wrong with that at all. Often times, his mother calls for her at a late hour for a nightly cup of tea, so why does it feel so different with him? Harry has always arranged meetings when Alaria is succumbing to sleep and the guards are forced to swap positions and leave his room unguarded long enough for her to slip inside. She’ll be fine, just like always.

Gavril passes her on the way down the hall and nods his head in brief greeting. The guards don’t talk much, but he’s one of the nicer ones that sometimes shares lunch with her in the courtyard while he completes his rounds. He’s the only one who knows that she isn’t visiting Prince Harry to bring him tea. Gavril came to the palace when he was twelve and she was eight. He grew up alongside her and Harry despite their age difference, and he keeps the secret they’ve kept hidden for so long. Brielle knows he doesn’t like it: every time she mentions Harry his eyebrows pull together and his jaw retains a rigidity far more intense than the guards normally display. But he will never tell her so, settling for outward displays of distaste that stab at her heart instead.

Warm light radiates from a vast number of lanterns lining the hall, illuminating the wide space and producing a wonderful glow on the tall windows. She’s made the walk many times before but this is the first time she’s felt at home since he’s returned from his month spent with the Wayland’s on the coast. Knowing that he’s waiting for her on the other side of his large, mahogany doors warms her blood. Upon his return, he is always the boy she grew up with who chased her for hours to receive a single kiss, not the man he’s been groomed to be.

Three gentle rasps echo in the vacant hallway. Brielle speaks to his door as if she is telling a child a bedtime story. “Prince Harry, you called?”

Somewhere between two and three seconds elapse before the door opens and two large hands pull her inside the shadowy room. He was supposed to be asleep hours ago, resting for an important meeting on the status of trade with the heir of Dahleen.

She’s pushed against the wall as velvet lips attach to hers as if they are attracted by forces unseen to the eye. Harry’s always had an incredible softness to his lips that’s often made her jealous. Appearances are everything in his world.

Warm breath fans her face as he retracts his lips with a smile, “Hi.”

Brielle hates to giggle, but he manages to bring out the sound more often than she’d like to admit. “Hello.”

His haste to get his hands on her loosed a strand of hair from the ribbon that’s been keeping it out of her eyes all day. A tender smile warms his features as he captures the strand of hair with his fingers and tucks it behind her ear. “An entire week is quite honestly torture without you.”

“Hmm, but you still manage to survive.”

Viridescent eyes roll and he kisses her again, this one sweeter and gracing her senses with longing and a desire that’s been dormant for weeks. If he kisses her again, she’s likely to give into anything he might ask of her. “Hardly. Will you stay with me tonight?”

There’s nothing Brielle wants more, but staying in his chambers poses dangerous outcomes that could very well cost her her life. She has almost been caught twice for all the times she’s granted his request. Everything they do is innocent, but if she is discovered in his chambers when she is meant to be working in the kitchens, the Queen will send her away or take sever her head from her shoulders.

“Not tonight. Too many people have seen me on my way here and your mother requested that I be in her chambers during the early hours of dawn to aid in choosing a ball gown fit for her tastes.” Every year, a ball is thrown in honor of his birthday and, every year, the Queen insists upon a dress that rivals those of the past.

Harry chuckles. His mother claims to have no real affinity for frivolous things, yet she always insists upon Brielle’s opinion. She likes her in some respect as Brielle’s gowns always earn her far more compliments than Alice’s do. “All this fuss about a silly ball that happens each year. You are right, though.” His eyes catch the lighting slipping under the door, producing a shine as beautiful as the stars. Brielle is convinced he’s the only man who can look at her in such a simple manner and make her forget how to say her own name. “Tomorrow, then?”

She’s never been able to refuse him properly without caving to some extent and tonight is no different. “Tomorrow. I swear it.”

Brielle is still two or three inches shorter than him despite her many growth spurts, and she has to stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him. “Please get some sleep. Those dark splotches under your eyes dilute your smile.”

Harry chuckles and leans in to kiss her one last time, “Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.”  
The faint scent of women’s perfume trails her shadow through the door.


	2. Two*

Accompanied by the bright voices of birds and the gentle caress of the summer breeze, the trees whisper to one another in hushed voices. Palace guards walk their routes with a calm stride that is often absent around September. Harry’s birthday is in less than a week. Women stand like statues in front of the gates, waiting for a single glimpse of the Prince as they do every year. Collected efforts to capture his attention intensify each day leading up to his birthday. Last fall, one woman was brave enough to risk being jailed to sneak inside and meet with him. She concealed herself in one of the supply wagons and waited until the staff took a break to slip into the castle.

Bronson found her in the main hall. She hadn’t bothered to disguise herself as one of the staff members yet insisted that she was regardless of the glaring disparity of her clothing. Harry was kind enough to waive her sentence and left her with a warning never to do such a thing again for her safety and his own. Sometimes the women in Alaria act as if he is locked inside the castle, never to be seen in the town square or the marketplace. He doesn’t leave the castle often, as he is required to rule in what areas he can and learn how to rule others, but he does visit on many occasions.

Harry asked her to accompany him the first time he was allowed outside the gates. The guard assigned to him was prone to sneering and wore an ugly scar stretching over his left eye. He never spoke unless addressed by a member of the Royal family. Around Harry’s fourteenth birthday, he disappeared without leaving a single footprint. To scare her, Harry told her it was witches who came and stole him while they were sleeping. She spent three nights in his rooms, each time hiding under his giant blanket and clutching his hand until she fell asleep.

Once the strange guard vanished, Brielle went everywhere with him. Harry was bold enough to hold her hand in certain alleyways and smile with her in front of anyone, regardless of their status. He visits twice every week, determined to speak to everyone he can and see how his people are faring. Although he is not yet a King, he’s a natural leader. All his tutors, advisors, and parents have claimed the same since he was twelve. Now, at twenty-two, he’s running the entire tax and trade system without any help from his father.

Lunch proves difficult today, the staff in the kitchens are running around sharing recipes to find the best ones and making much more food than necessary days before the ball is to be held. Preferring to eat away from the bustling preparations, Brielle sneaks off a handful of strawberries to share with Gavril on his dull rounds. She doesn’t have much work to do since the linens have already been taking care of and the Queen’s dress has been completed for a day and a half. Queen Anne won’t call until later in the evening when dinner has settled and sleep refuses to come easily. Hours alone are tedious, yet comforting in some strange way when there is nothing to look forward to. Now that Harry’s back, all she can think about is hushed conversations and saccharine kisses. Whenever his birthday is nearing, he is more like himself and less of a molded replica of the crown.

All she’s wanted to do is kiss him and listen to him talk about the strange people he met and what he hopes to do next for Alaria. Without the freedom to speak as he desires amongst anyone who has ears to listen, he seldom shares his thoughts. Brielle loves being his confidant, holding all his secrets in her heart and small details that others would not think matter much to him. He could repeat himself eight times over and she would still be interested.

Preoccupied with thoughts of Harry, she wears her smile without worry of who might see it. Most people inside the castle know that she’s genuinely happy, and she hasn’t seen Harry alone in the presence of anyone, so there is little cause to hide her joy.

Gavril looks bored as he paces the perimitter in his stiff armor.

“Has there been much trouble at the gates yet?”

He chuckles and pretends to be interested in surveying the vacant grounds near the back of the castle. “Of course, when is there not?”

Brielle grins as she passes him a strawberry. He likes to pretend that he doesn’t enjoy them much, but she knows that he loves them as much as she does and she always makes sure to bring some when they are in season. “Speaking of women, are there any you fancy around the grounds?” She raises a suggestive eyebrow and prods his side with her elbow. Gavril doesn’t like being touched and she knows her limitations after spending years irritating him. When she was thirteen he ignored her for a fortnight and she poked his side until he spoke to her. Gavril pushed her to the ground and told her to stop touching him before he slapped her silly. She didn’t touch him for three years.

Gavril rolls his dark eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at the right corner of his lips. “That, is none of your business, Elle. And even if it was, I certainly wouldn’t tell you because you would talk my ear off for a fortnight.”

Light laughter floats from her lips like fallen lips atop a pond’s shimmering surface. “And to think I thought you enjoyed me talking your ear off! I’ve been so mislead all these years!”

Another chuckle breaks his standard composure. Brielle is lovely company and her humor brings a nice relief from the normal talk of women and blood he hears from guards stationed around the palace. “Believe me, it’s very welcomed.”

Gavril speaks little on any occasion, but today he is having trouble keeping his thoughts to himself. He is aware of Brielle’s relationship with Harry and knowing that Harry is bound to break her heart pulverizes his own. “Elle, forgive me for saying this, but please be careful with the Prince. There are shadows to every soul, even those we claim to know as well as our own. And with Royals...nothing is ever fair. I have no desire to see you unhappy because he cannot fulfill his promise.”

A chorus of women’s voices rises and swells like tides as they near the gates. Brielle examines each of their faces, covered in cheap rouge and pasted to be a shade of unnatural porcelain to show Harry how easily he can win their bodies before he can have their hearts. Some of them are beautiful--made for ball gowns and golden rivers, not torturing the soles of their feet at the mercy of a gate that will not open.

She knows Harry is not permitted to keep his promise: marriage to a bride of his choosing was never his choice. Thinking about what it meant kept her up so much that she decided to live in her head and enjoy the time she manages to share with him. He makes her happy. When he is no longer hers, she’s uncertain another man can create the same clouds in her veins. She prefers not to think about how her life will change once he is gone or the things he does while he is away.

Brielle’s smile fades like the stars as morning creeps across the sky. “I know he won’t be able to keep his word. We were kids. Regardless, I can’t help the way I feel about him. Loving him is never going to end the way I want it to--I’ve always known that-- I just want to enjoy what love feels like before the crown obliterates it. He’s going to hurt me and I don’t care. He gave me the opportunity to love him and he loved me in return.”

Gavril attempts to provide a genuine smile but it looks more like a grimace. “I’m not very good at these things, but I will try to be of help to you when you require it.”

She finishes another strawberry and offers him one. “The same has always gone for you.”

Faint staff bells chime from down in the kitchens. Lilly rushes out of the main building in search of Brielle, who often spends her lunch with the guards on rotation.

Gavril and Brielle caught sight of her before she makes it halfway to where they stand. “Looks like you’re back on rotation.”  
She laughs as she begins wrapping the remaining strawberries in the cloth she carried them out with. “It would appear so. Here,” Gavril forces a grimace as she hands him the small bundle. “These are for you. Perhaps you can share them with some of the ladies at the gate.”

He rolls his eyes and thanks her in a dull tone. Lilly severs the words he wants to say when she approaches, panting and moving her arms around in nonsensical patterns. “The Queen requires your presence in the Throne Room.”

Panic steals the color from Brielle’s cheeks. The Queen only requires staff presence in the Throne Room when they’ve done something wrong, or when she’s letting them go. Harry. She must have seen her leaving his rooms.

Lilly shakes her head, moving her arms slower to convey a sense of calm Brielle has lost. “Nothing...nothing bad. The Prince has wandered off again and you’re always the one that finds him the quickest.”

Of course. She wants to speak with her son and she can’t find him. She doesn’t know.

“I will head there straight away. Thank you, Lilly.”

Decorations flood the halls, candles, paintings, goblets meant to bring envy, everything necessary to show the other Kingdoms how well off Alaria is and how great they will become once the Prince is wed. Harry hates the display, yet he never does anything to stop it. Perhaps power lies in the size of the crown, not the owner.

Queen Anne greats her with the typical Royal smile she’s seen Harry wear hundreds of times. “My son has wandered off again and you appear to be the only one able to find him without unwarranted searching.”

Brielle nods, biting her cheek hard enough to draw blood. “Yes, your Highness.”

“Find him and direct him here. I require a word.”

She exits with a deep curtsey, forcing her bones to remain rigid against the tremble in her hands. Gavril is the only one who knows. All she has to do is find Harry in one of their usual hiding spots, which is considerably easy since they’ve frequented them since they were children. He does sneak off more than she does, though. Brielle can’t blame him, being a Prince is hard on anyone in some degree or another and breaking away is more than warranted.

Harry is not hidden in the garden or the old passageway everyone has forgotten about on the left wing of the castle, and he’s not in the music room, plucking away at his harps. There are hundreds of hiding places on the grounds, but she has a feeling he’s at her favorite spot: under the shade of the aging oak tree at the farthest edge of the grounds.

Perhaps he’s waiting for her, with those adorable pink weeds. Sometimes he likes to sneak off and wait for her to find him because he’s well aware his parents will not send anyone else. They’ve tried and every time the search ends with angry guards, frustrated royalty, and Brielle sent after him as a last-ditch effort.

Brielle runs her fingertips against old brick as she rounds the corner, humming to a melody with a smile that would damn her if she had company.

Piercing woman’s laughter tears through her ears, slowing her feet so much she stumbles over a root. There shouldn’t be any women on the grounds who aren’t inside, working and preparing for the ball. Fear constricts her lungs, blocking the intake of air. Harry wouldn’t do that to her. Not the man who loves butterflies and roses. The man who stole salted-caramels to share with her and slipped her into his room just to talk and exchange kisses inside the privacy of four solid walls.

A guard must have brought his sweetheart inside. Many have done so before, lonely after prowling the silent grounds, desperate for something to happen other than sunrise and sunset.

Brielle collects herself and allows her feet to lead her to the oak tree, her pulse roaring in her ears. She’s careful to cast her eyes to the ground just in case she’s interrupting a guard who is often want of spare moments with his sweetheart.

Lustful sighs replace laughter. She’s about to turn around and return to searching the grounds when she hears Harry’s name, drawn out in a woman’s voice. Ocean eyes race to look ahead.

Harry’s under the oak tree where she thought he would be, and he’s not alone. His trousers are bunched around his ankles, hands hidden beneath another woman’s skirts. She’s pressed against the tree with her hands in his hair, dirty corset open for anyone to see. And Harry...he looks as if he is in another world. One where he is a god, untouchable and foreign.

She wants to be smothered in fire and consumed by the ashes. “Oh.”

The woman all but screams. Harry reacts the way one does to a burn, terror swelling in his eyes. Brielle wasn’t supposed to see this. She was never supposed to find out.  
Brielle averts her eyes, desperate to hide the despair rising in her cheeks. She doesn’t want to see him this way. The other woman straightens her skirts and tugs at her corset, a spiteful laugh escaping as she notices the strange way the two are looking at one another. “Oh no, honey. You didn’t actually believe you had a chance with the Prince, did you?”

An avalanche of tears threatens to drown her. Brielle won’t do this in front of her. “No. No, of course not, Miss.”

All the bones in her body feel like they’re crumbling and it takes every ounce of her effort not to cry or run in the opposite direction. Those same lips that tasted of salted-caramel and told her every day that she was the only one have betrayed her.

Harry covers himself and fixes his trousers and Brielle cannot face him. The woman he was with wears a smug smile, twirling a loose corset string around her finger. A trophy for the winner.

“Prince Harry, your mother desires a word with you in the Throne Room.”

Tearing open the skin on her arm, Brielle turns her back on him. Heavy tears slide down her cheeks, feeding the pressure in her chest that steals her breath. She is a servant. Just a servant.

The awful woman laughs again. Harry glares at her with war raging in his irises. What they had was for his own benefit, insulting Brielle drove twelve swords through his chest. “Leave now and don’t come back.”

Cold rings bite into his cheeks, covering his eyes to ruminate in the mess he’s created. She doesn’t have the slightest idea what she’s done wrong, struggling to find words to appease him. “Harry--”

“Do not address me as such. To you, I am your Highness. You were a plaything and nothing more. Please, leave before I have the guards escort you off the grounds.”

Brielle is too far away, his eyes strain to see her behind the blossomed rose bushes. He sighs and curses under his breath. If someone hears him shouting her name, everyone in the castle will come running, the opportunity ripe for gossip. Running after her is an equal risk, but he can’t let her go.

She is a ghost in one of the forgotten tunnels, blending with the shadows. Long out of use, he’s forgotten the twisting passageways. When she was eight, Brielle went exploring inside them and didn’t appear until she remembered where each passage led. He never followed her inside to keep their secret. If anyone saw them sneaking off into abandoned tunnels, he wouldn’t have been able to see her again.

Harry waits outside the tunnels until sunset. She doesn’t return, leaving him to fill his nails with dirt and berate himself until the words are bitter in his mouth.

After returning to the kitchens to help with the baking, Brielle stood in a corner, twisting a loose string around her fingers until Mae told her to get some rest. Thankful she did not try to console her, she roams the halls and stares at paintings until she has memorized every line.

The only place she wants to be is the place Harry ruined. Where he looked her in the eye and shot a cannonball at her chest. He shattered the dream they created and the worst part is that she let him trick her into believing fairytales could be reality. Only one place is truly her own, untainted by everything but his memory: her bedroom.

Her mattress is not hard enough for her heart. Knees bent, she hugs her legs and wills her tears to seal her eyes shut forever. Perhaps then she will not have to see his face every day. That ridiculous smile and those strange, green eyes she’s never seen on anyone else. Fool! She should have seen through his show years ago when he stopped bringing her sweets and began disappearing more often. And the perfume! She should have known when she smelled the perfume trailing her the moment she left his chambers.

Sobs wreak havoc on her body, forcing burning tears down her cheeks and masking her complection with that of an angry scar. June, her mother, blocks the light filtering in through the sheet covering the open doorway. She’s brought her pottage, this time with fresh bread and real chicken. “Are you hungry? The bread is nice and hot, and your father brought home a sizeable chicken.”

Brielle nods, accepting the steaming bowl in spite of the acrid taste in her mouth. It’s the best pottage she’s eaten and she can’t bring herself to enjoy it because of a dolt like Harry. Midnight cloaks Alaria and the blasted servant bell above her bed shrieks. He must enjoy torture.

June offers to go instead, pleading that she rest in the comfort of her blankets. She is waved off with a feigned smile. “It’s alright, mum. He’s forgotten to take his tea for the night.” Or he is planning to trick her, claim her as his own like he promised because she caught him.

Gavril passes her near the library and names their secret phrase. She would hug him if he wasn’t covered in metal. He’ll share a word during his rounds tomorrow, judgement withheld.

Five minutes. Fives minutes tick by and in that time she has blinked fourteen times, bitten her cheek until it bled, and ground her heels into the floor until pain radiated through her ankles. She does not knock. “Prince Harry, you called?”

Harry flies out of the room, smashing his elbows on the far wall. “By God does that hurt. How in God’s name do the knights do this sort of thing on command?”

Brielle steps back, avoiding the hand that reaches for her and the words meant to disguise his true intentions. He frowns and mumbles incoherently as he searches her face, noting the redness in her eyes and the lines imprinted in her cheeks. Soft lips part to form an apology, but every word he’s ever learned is lost.

She straightens his posture, looking into ancient bricks as ice flows from her lips. “Unless you need my aid, I will not enter that room with you. Not now, not ever again.”

His right hand shakes, pausing to tangle in his hair. “Elle….please don’t make me do this.”

Yelling is the only thing she wants to do. No, she wants to break his bones the way he broke her heart, shattering them piece by piece until only dust remains. There are other jobs in other Kingdoms.

He reaches for her again.

“If you ever loved me, please don’t make me.”

Metal clangs against stone, ringing deep into the night. She’s certain one of his rings is ruined. “Damn it, Elle! You know that I do! At least allow me to explain.”

She bites her lip so hard she can taste the blood in her mouth. “You already have.”

Harry sighs, his fist returning to the wall beside him. She will not submit. This time she will say no. Just say no. She will not allow him to control her the way he controls those helpless girls at the gate, desperate for a single glance.

Blemish-free hands pull at his hair. He can’t ask her to bend to his will but she will not listen if he does not. She’ll hate him. She already hates him, what else is there to lose? “I order you to accompany me to my chambers.”

Brielle obeys. She allows him the power some stupid birthright gave him. The power that makes him better than everyone else because of his blood. He follows her in, closing the door with a grace he lacked only moments prior, and seating himself at the edge of his mattress.

“Elle…”

“Don’t call me that.”

Again, he tries for her hand as if the first three times she rejected him were only a game. She retracts. The next time she’ll slap him.

“Please let me explain I--I know you hate me. Just...please let me explain.”

Hurricanes rage inside her eyes, surging winds pushing him away yet desperate to drown him. “I don’t have much of a choice.”

He stares at her, blank and unmoving. “How long, Harry?”

Boots click against the floors, their pace slow and unmeasured. Harry twists the rings adorning his fingers. “Since you were eighteen.”

The storm deflates, collapsing in on itself until only battering waves remain. She’s kept her tears at bay, but it’s tormenting to keep her heart together when she’s certain none of his answers will placate the desire to hear him say something else--blame someone else. Something trapped between a laugh and a sob sticks to her throat. “God.”

He’s stopped looking at her, focusing instead on the lavish carpet in the center of the room. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Brielle slaps him as hard as she can, fingertips numb. “You don’t get to say that!”

He nods. It’s a shit excuse and he’s already hurt her more than anyone else is capable of. “I...I never meant for it to happen this way. They never meant anything to me. I just—I was selfish and wanted you all to myself and I knew I could never have you like that so I—so I fucked up, Elle. I fucked up and it's kept me up for more nights than I can count."

A sudden spark of energy hits her and she's looking at him like she's the executioner and his head is on the guillotine. "How could you? How could you give me so much hope, make me believe that by some odd miracle that you loved me too, and then rip it all away like none of this meant anything to you?"

He doesn't answer fast enough and another puzzle piece shatters in her mind. That rush of anger evaporates and every last shred of her heart turns to ash in her mouth. "Is that why you would never touch me? Why you wouldn't ever go farther? Did you ever even want me?"

“No!” A lamp crashes to the floor. Harry swings his arms at random angles, reaching for anything that will release the panic bubbling in his throat.”Of course I wanted you! All I’ve _ever_ wanted was you!”

“That’s why you went to random village women for thrills, right? Because you _wanted_ me! If you ever loved me, keep your distance. I can’t do this anymore.”

With trembling hands, she unclasps the golden rose necklace he gave her for her fourteenth birthday, throwing at him as she would a lance and rushing out of the room in a fit of tears.

Two hours pass before Harry gathers the courage to chase after her. He wanted to when she left, but she’s right. If he followed her, he would only make it worse.

A few guards are stationed in the hall now, keeping watch and walking back and forth to keep their limbs agile. They’re surprised to see him at such a late hour, no doubt because he locks himself in his rooms to deal with his sins alone. Not a word is mentioned as he walks down the hall and toward the servant’s quarters. If they asked him, he would have no viable excuse and he’s exercised his power enough. He needs to apologize to Brielle, a thousand times over.

The darkness is broken by a single candle, burning like a beacon and lighting only a small sphere around it’s position. Caution holding his words at bay, he steps out of the stairwell. Brielle is sitting at one of the tables, sobbing into her arms and shaking with the effort. All he’s ever wanted to do is love her and he’s managed to make it so much harder than it needed to be. She’s probably been down here since she left his chambers.

Action drives his forward, outweighing all thoughts of rejection. His hand shakes the air above her shoulder, “Leave me. I don’t want to hear your apology.”

“Elle…”

“Sard off, Harry. Find another whore to ease your pain.”

 


	3. Three*

Harry is convinced that silence is the worst form of torture. Brielle hasn’t spoken to him out of anything beyond necessity, and even then her words are sparse. All he can think about is the devastation written on her face the moment she caught him with Catherine. Her smile has vanished behind a thick veil of clouds meant to keep the enemy away. The sunshine that resides in her irises is dim and faded, an echo of the emptiness that flows through the cavern he carved in her chest. She avoids him like hounds avoid a terrible stench, yet he is determined to begin a conversation that won’t end in “Your Highness” and a stiff curtsey.

While consulting her ceiling in the middle of the night, Brielle is considering taking her leave and finding employment somewhere he could never find her. A foreign palace, secluded from the rest of the world and surrounded by the restless sea. There, he wouldn’t be able to seek her out and torment her day after day. She won’t go through with it though. Running away makes her weak and allows Harry another privilege to add to his Throne. He will not win this time.

Untroubled birds sing as they flit around the grounds, repeating a decades old dance that’s been ingrained in their memory from the beginning of time. Children’s laughter floats through the gates as they pretend their lives are full of the splendor and glamour that resides just behind the metal blockade. Strange, how the smallest things that made her happy now carry such misery.

The sun is a bright beacon on the horizon, illuminating the gardens with an alluring warmth. Brielle is drawn to the voluminous rose bushes like a beggar drawn to the smell of fresh bread. They remind her that beauty is not all consuming: that thorns are always waiting for an unsuspecting hand.

Petals welcome her calloused fingertips with a soft embrace. She is no longer afraid of the thorns beneath the surface. Wine colored roses float beneath her palms, “All along you were trying to warn me. How foolish of me not to listen.”

Gavril steps on dried leaves and petals as he approaches. “You missed lunch today. I must say, I’m rather disappointed. Strange, how quiet things are when you’re not working up a storm with words.”

A faint smile struggles to gain prominence on her face as she turns toward him, a delicate blossom trapped between her fingers. “I thought you hated the way I talk your ear off during the afternoon?”

“Hate is a strong word, Elle. Your storms are a much welcomed relief from the tedious routine I am faced with every morning.” He grins and reveals a cloth filled with fresh strawberries he’d kept hidden behind his back. “Thought you might want some of these.”

Brielle releases the rose and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. He didn’t have to go through all that trouble in the kitchens for her sake. Perhaps not all men in the guard have been trained to operate as slaves to the crown. His smile looks different today, more...troubled. Or maybe his smile always retains a similar look and she hasn’t noticed because she’s been swept up in Harry’s current all her life. She steps on her toes to place a kiss upon his cheek, “Thank you, Gavril. I will make sure to talk your ear off extra long tomorrow afternoon.”

Unsure of what else to say, she begins making her way back to her room to finish sewing the trail on the Queen’s dress. She manages all of three steps before his voice stops her.

“Elle...Prince Harry asked me to inform you that he’s left something for you under the oak tree. I...please know that message was not my intention for seeking you out.”

A warm breeze sweeps through her hair as she closes her eyes. He’s not Harry. “I understand. Thank you, Gavril.”

There are a million other things she would rather do, yet her heart retraces its footsteps down the worn path. Whatever he’s left for her will not change her opinion of him. He will not woo her the way he woos the women at the gates without ever being present. He knew what he was doing when he took up an affair with another woman. Every move he makes has a purpose, he’s always been that way. The very thought makse the constant swells in her chest more poignant than ever.

Everything always works in his favor, why would playing with hearts be any different? His parents will determine his marriage, so why not take whatever he desires before then? What problem is there in breaking someone else’s heart as long as his own remains intact?

Leaves crunch under the soles of her shoes. Winter will be arriving soon and all the vibrant colors that took root in summer and fall will fade like the cool summer showers.

Sitting beneath the oak tree is a mahogany box made for a Prince. Atop it, rests a single envelope addressed with her name in Harry’s familiar script. Invisible strings pull her forward until she’s standing in front of the wide trunk.

Brielle runs her fingers along the weathered bark of the tree she spent twenty-two summers under with a man who she believed loved her more than the stars. She wonders how much he would hurt if she were to leave the box and the letter untouched.

Torn between her own feelings, she sits under the fractured shadows of leaves, the small box on her lap and the letter between her fingers.

_A luminous smile brightens Brielle’s face as she runs around the wide oak tree. “Harry?”_

_He told her that he would meet her at the tree at noon and she can’t even see the tread of his fancy shoes. Looking around to make sure he isn’t hiding somewhere only causes her smile to falter. A note nailed to the tree’s base stops her before she begins the long walk back to the castle._

_The only people around are the patrolling guards who could not call her by name if she asked them to. Eyes bubbling with excitement roam the open grounds in search of the boy with the green eyes and perfect smile. Harry still isn’t anywhere in sight, yet his lack of appearance does nothing to impede the gradually increasing beat of her heart. He’s always had this strange quality that makes her feel like she’s just ran across the entirety of the grounds and her lungs are starving for oxygen. Other times its different, though. Sometimes being around him is easy, like breathing or blinking._

_A bird’s startled cry pierces the air and a commotion erupts inside the dense green leaves that shelter the oak tree. Several break free and tumble to the ground, followed by an agitated, “Blasted tree!”_

_“Harry?”_

_More leaves fall. “No?”_

_Laughter erupts from her throat, “What are you doing up there? Your mother will lose her head if she sees you!”_

_Harry peeks through the branches and flashes her a Royal smile, “Then I won’t let her see me.”_

_The letter in her hands is all but forgotten, “Come down! You already scared that poor bird away!”_

_“And what if I don’t?”_

_“Then I will refuse to read your letter until tomorrow.” Brielle is bluffing to see the panic in his eyes when he does not get his way. She bites her cheek to keep from smiling as his eyes widen._

_Branches shake and more leaves fall as he scrambles down the tree, mumbling about how it took him all night to write the letter. He doesn’t have much experience climbing trees and mistakes a dip in the bark as a sturdy foothold. The tree is sturdy in its foundation, but Harry loses his footing and plummets to the ground in a commotions of leaves and twigs._

_Brielle drops the letter and rushes to his side. A branch has torn his white tunic down the side and a few others left scratches on his elbows. “Are you alright? Should I get Dr. Avery?”_

_He looks at her with a broad smile. “Elle, they’re just some scratches.”_

_Scratches on a Prince. She’s heard of men being hanged for less. “Your mother is going to kill me. Or fire me, at the very least.”_

_Harry laughs as he uses his elbows to push himself into a sitting position. “She will not. Mother loves you. Besides, it wasn’t your doing, it was mine. Please tell me you’ll read the letter now?”_

_She reaches for his hand and fills the spaces between his fingers with her own, “Of course I will.”_

Any explanation he desires to give her will only cause more harm. No wax seal can ever convince her that the other women held no importance in his heart.

Something rustles in the trees, scattering a handful of changing leaves toward the ground. A few land in her hair, enticing her eyes to look where she knows he’s hiding. Brielle closes her eyes and bites the inside of her cheek. He made his choice.

She remains under the tree only a moment longer before returning to the castle. Needles and soft fabrics hold her attention until the sun retires for the night. The box is locked in a small trunk beneath her bed, taunting happy memories with melancholy truths. If she stares at the mattress any longer, she’ll tear the lid off the box and scour the letter in a matter of seconds.

Rather than allowing her itching fingers to have their way, Brielle reaches for the quill and inkpot Harry gave her once she learned to write.

**Harry,**

  
**Our relationship has never been easy. From the moment I understood what it meant to love you, I knew that it would be one of the hardest things I would ever do because it meant I had to leave you. Seeing you with that woman showed me how unprepared I was to let my dreams fall to dust. How unprepared I was to lose the man who spent countless hours between night and dawn spinning tales of happiness that live only in children’s fairy tales.**

**I wish the fairy tales you told me were true. Perhaps this wouldn’t hurt so much. I don’t understand why you’ve done the things that you have, and I have no desire to know either, but the fault is also mine. It was foolish of me for thinking things could ever work out between us-- The Prince and a commoner who serves his family.**

**I hope you are happy with the woman who will become your bride in the near future. I hope she loves you even half as much as I did.**

**Elle**

She slips the letter under his door while bringing the Queen her nightly tea. The guards reach his door and take up position and his door remains closed. Brielle makes it all the way to the kitchens when the bell for Harry’s room chimes.

Counting on his impatience to tear him apart, she avoids shortcuts and takes her time walking down the long corridor that leads to his room. Two guards are positioned on each side of the door and two more pace the hall with weary expressions. She’s relieved to have freedom of movement during most hours of the day rather than standing stiff as statues in a new spot every four hours. Gavril doesn’t seem to have any issues with his position, however he often looks detached. He certainly looks happier since she started joining him for lunch. No wonder he’s more lively with company.

Neither guard asks for an explanation of her presence, nodding their heads in brief acknowledgement as she enters. Harry must have alerted them when he called for her and thrown caution aside to have a moment for himself.

Brielle is met with silver threads of moonlight peeking through hastily drawn curtains. Tunics, trousers and undergarments are scattered across the room and the sheets are crumpled beneath the silken comforter.

Harry is pacing the far corners of the room with his hands in his unruly hair. The action has straightened the loose curls that framed his ears and softened the angles of his jaw.   
“You wished to see me?”

His slouch disappears as he snaps into his usual regal posture: straight back, lowered shoulders, and legs a few centimeters apart. Rigid as the golden crown he was born to wear.

Although his posture is correct, his lips part and close as if he’s forgotten how to breathe through his nose. “Why didn’t you open the letter?”

Brielle shrugs, unsure of how to stand without fidgeting under his stare. “Because those words won’t help me move past my feelings for you. And they do not matter. You chose to be with someone else and no explanation will sway my affections.”

His composure falters and his features soften enough to show how much she’s worried him. “Have you opened the box?”

She shakes her head. Harry nods, lips pulling into thin line before he faces the window.

“I…” He pauses, raises his right hand, and pinches his lips between his fingertips. Distracting himself from the rush of sentences crashing into his skull. “Despite what I’ve done, will you allow me one more night?”

“Harry…”

Hands that carry the warmth of the spring capture hers and draw her closer than she wants to be. “I will not mention any of it. I only want one more night with you.”

No woman in their right mind would allow him this conversation, let alone a night. She shouldn’t even consider it. All he wants is to whisper sweet things in her ear and coax her back into believing a lie that will never happen. A love that will never work. But perhaps one night will soothe the earthquakes that rage beneath the boiling waves in her chest.

“Not tonight.” Perhaps not ever.

“What about the ball? I’ll invite all the staff--provide clothing for everyone. And I don’t care if my parents recognize you. It’s my ball and I want to show you off at least once before you turn my heart to stone.”

Brielle stares into his eyes, determined to find some ounce of mischief, something other than love. He is unflinching, holding her stare with a desperation he was taught never to show. “All right.”

  
* * *

 

Women continue to stream toward the gate, pressing their breasts and faces against the metal bars as if their sheer number can break the resilient barrier.

Harry’s kept his promise, inviting every single member of the staff. He spent two fortunes on clothing for everyone, buying extravagant silks and jewelry worth more than everything they own. Wealth will not sway her. He can flaunt his gold and his status as much as he pleases: she will never be anywhere near his class. However, the scolding his mother gave him with her frigid imperial voice earned him a girlish smile.

The grounds are alight with lanterns, hanging high in the trees and swaying alongside the people below. They remind Brielle of the constellations the fireflies morph into as they emerge from their slumber on warm summer nights.

Gowns of satin and silk rustle in a ceaseless rhythm out of line with the beat of the music, creating whispers to fill the pauses with walls of sound.

Brielle stands beside the rose bushes, her fingers clinging to soft petals like the morning dew. Harry sent her a dress drenched in cardinal red, a fine complement to anyone of a lower caste, but a punishing jab to the woman who told him roses, particularly the red ones, were average.

Gavril accompanied her to grounds upon her request and now he’s wandered off to find something to cheer her up. She hasn’t seen him since he disappeared into the crowd of opulence. The Royal Family made their entrance thirty minutes prior, awakening the dragon within the crowd gathered to celebrate Harry’s birthday. Although, everyone is well aware that he is being shown to the available women within and outside of the Kingdom. His parents already have a list of Princesses they plan to invite to the grounds in the coming weeks. Nevertheless, the women of Alaria are flocking to Harry and displaying their gowns like peacocks, as if the sheer beauty of the fabric will earn his affections.

Much to everyone’s displeasure, Harry has yet to accept a dance from anyone since he stepped off the platform constructed only for the evening. Women are hanging off his arm and talking his ears into oblivion. Not once has he acknowledged them with anything more than a nod. Viridescent eyes scan the courtyard until they latch themselves to the fiery burn of her gown.

Brielle’s fingers slip and fall to a thorn.

Shoulders flinch as he approaches, foregoing all courtesies to reach her. Few men move out of his path, showing no signs of dispersing. When he reaches her, the moon has taken its throne in the sky and every eye is magnetized.

Harry takes her hand and bows, “May I have this dance?”

Queen Anne wears a masked smile as she inclines her head to gain a better view of her son crossing the grounds to a less crowded area near the back of the courtyard. Alaria follows every breath.

Six women glare at her, staring her down like game. Harry laughs, aware of their animosity. “Don’t you find it strange, how we cannot seem to share the happiness of others?”

The smile threatening to take hold vanishes. “No, sometimes the happiness of others feels like a sword to the chest. Perhaps someone will try to poison my drink before the night ends.”

His free hand remains at her waist, the other holding her hand while his chin rests on her shoulder, “I certainly hope not.”

Silence follows the string quartet, dancing around their ears in a perilous routine. Harry draws her closer, his hand dipping below what is proper. “I know that I promised I wouldn’t speak of it, but I want you to know that you are the only one I’ve ever brought into my room and the only one I was willing to give up my life for.”

Brielle forces her eyes to the lanterns, “And the crown?”

Harry lowers his voice, drawing his lips to her ear. “I was hiding away small sums to keep us on our feet after I gave it up. The crown has always been insignificant compared to you.”

The song draws on for an eternity before fading into the murmur of the crowd. Brielle is the first to pull away. Harry’s hand catches hers, pulling her to him and attaching their lips with a force hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

“Happiness will not exist without you. I will forever regret what I have done to you--what I have done to us. Goodbye, my love.”

Brielle kisses him, desperate and as hard as she can. “Goodbye, my Prince.”

She is gone before the whispers begin, her head held high: regal like a Queen.


	4. Four*

Winter is encroaching with a ferocious speed, devouring all the greenery in its path. Brielle has felt the oncoming frost for an entire month--a month full of numb limbs and slowed heartbeats. 

Princesses from neighboring Kingdoms have been visiting the castle every three days. Each one of them wears their best silks and abrasive jewelry, trying to win affection with wealth rather than any charm they’ve been taught over the years. They plaster their faces with powder and rouge their cheeks, wear corsets too tight for any sort of breathing, and trim their bodices so low anyone can glimpse the tops of their nipples. Watching them converse with Harry draws an unwanted venom from her heart that drips with excruciating slowness. He is always wearing a smile and speaking to them as if he has known them his entire life. Listening to him is suffocating, wrenching the air from her with every word as strangers enjoy a privilege she’s never had. 

Even though his parents have forced his hand into marriage, he is still allowed to choose which Princess suits him best. The very thought of watching him marry someone else--a stranger who knows nothing but his name and his looks--adds stones to the pile on her chest that grows heavier each day. Her life was never meant to be the fairy tale he led her to expect: a fairy tale spun from gold and laced with potent sugar. Her life is made up of children’s stories, fabricated in dreams and solidified through conversations with a Prince who could never be hers. She was foolish to believe a poor, servant girl’s love like hers could keep a Prince happy. 

The letter and box are still tucked away beneath her bed. Every day, the wax seal taunts her. She’s come close to removing the seal three times, and each time she’s stopped herself. Whatever rests inside the letter and the box will only summon melancholy memories. Apologies will not mend the gaping wound he opened in her chest after leading her on and bedding other women behind her back. 

Kinsley is the most recent visitor. She’s visiting from Lyon, the Kingdom of the Sea. Harry has kept her around longer than any other Princess, even though she clings to him like moss clings to trees. The Queen sent Brielle to Kinsley for the duration of her stay. Every time she is summoned, she feels like she is drowning. Kinsley wants the Harry beneath the crown and makes it well known in her speech whenever he is not by her side. 

A terrible, clawing sensation fills her throat, determined to draw a choking cough from her lungs for the seventh time since breakfast. Brielle closes her eyes and clamps her jaw so tight the bones ache. She will not allow Harry to catch her illness or the blood that sticks to her lips after the coughing has passed. She doesn’t want him to be there when her lungs fail. 

Blue begins to bathe in waves of orange as the sun reclines, easing the moon into the dominating throne. The roses are wilting, sinking into themselves to hoard the life within until the air is warm and the leaves are a rich green. Brielle frowns, a petal trapped between her fingers. They are lucky flowers, able to store their lives in their roots until they deem the weather to be agreeable. 

Laughter trails Harry and Kinsley around the corner. They’re walking side by side, arms linked as he leads her through yet another tour of the grounds. She is the first he’s brought to her garden. The first Princess to shatter the last remnants of the fairytale she allowed herself to believe in. 

“...and this is the rose garden. Brielle takes care of them, and they are the best roses in all of the twelve Kingdoms.”

Brielle pretends to examine the roses, tracing her fingers over every petal and searching for wilting that will not begin for another fortnight. They’re losing their vibrant colors, but only a few stems have given way to drooping. Harry and Kinsley are five steps away. She forces herself to look at him, needing to see how manicured his expression is. He wears a smile she’s seen many times, trapped between practiced regality and the easy lilt of uncontrolled muscle movement. He looks happy. 

“...there’s a special flower that hasn’t bloomed yet. I’d like to show you sometime, if that’s alright?” 

Another cough tears its way up her throat, shredding the silence between a conversation she would rather not hear. Harry’s steps falter as his feet come to a dramatic halt. Dazed, Kinsley watches as he retraces their steps. She’s kind to her servants, but she has yet to see another Royal act in a similar manner toward theirs. 

Brielle covers her mouth with her hands, desperate to stop. Inside her chest, someone with an armored fist is punching her lungs, berating them until blood spouts from her lips. There’s a tattered rag in her pocket, a remnant of some childhood dress she’s long outgrown. She is too slow to grasp it. Harry’s seen the crimson dots scattered like stars atop her palms. 

Confusion blends with anger and concern as he looks at her. His hand is outstretched, reaching for her while being nowhere close enough to touch her. “Elle...what’s wrong? Have you seen Master Avery?”

She shakes her head and forces her hands to her sides, “No, your Highness. I have not.”

Kinsley returns to Harry’s side and he retracts his hand. “Please, see him immediately.”

Brielle nods, her feet anchored to the well-tread ground. She’s desperate to run until her legs are numb and her feet are bleeding, until she is far away from Harry and everything that reminds her of him, until love has vacated her heart, but if she runs, the truth will be laid bare.  

He waits for an answer too stubborn to pass her teeth. Kinsley urges him on, taking his arm and walking toward the training grounds. Neither spare her another glance. 

Brielle waits until they are out of sight to return to the castle. Every step is another blow to her lungs. At this rate, she doesn’t have much longer. More blood surfaces with every cough, drawing tides of pain through her chest. Gavril is the only one who knows, aside from her parents. He’s been visiting her before and after his rounds. Twice, he’s brought her handfuls of the little pink flowers she loves. Sometimes they wander the vacant halls and talk, but more often, they lie on the kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling and creating constellations in their heads.

“There’s a pink flower up there somewhere, I swear.”

Gavril laughs and Brielle holds her breath to hide another cough. “Oh, I believe you. But, I also believe there are two.”

A laugh escapes her control and morphs into a symphony of coughs. “Why two?”

He turns his head and looks at her, eyebrows raised far too high. “How in the world can you have one flower without another?”

Brielle’s voice reminds him of the gentle lullabies mothers sing to their infants. “I can name a thousand ways. The most painful reality is that, without the other, the flower begins to wither and fade into oblivion. Life becomes unimportant when there is no purpose to living and the second flower fades like the sunset.”

She’s overstepped, painting more of herself than the flower and drawing silence from his mouth. “I saw him kiss her, earlier. Outside her chambers. All I could think about were the roses and the sound blood makes as it travels through the body. I never…” Bitter, unwanted tears fall from her eyes and burn trails down her cheeks. “I never thought it would hurt this much.”

Gavril shifts and turns his head to face her. She continues to look into the blank ceiling, imagining a crown, folding in on itself, molten gold dripping onto her chest. “And now I’m dying--twice--and I still cannot find the strength to let my heart walk away.”

“Sometimes the other flower doesn’t have to die. Sunlight and water can be enough.”

Fever extends her burning hands, beckoning to be invited in. Droplets of sweat emerge on Brielle’s forehead, stealing the salt from her tears. Gavril is saying something, his words muffled and incoherent as he reaches for her hand. An itch in her throat berates her lungs until breathing is consumed by rattling coughs. She’s heard stories of death, how he numbs the pain and allows the soul one last glimpse of life before it departs for another realm, and how easy it is to give in. Consumption defies every story, filling her bones with agony and extracting what life is left with venomous fangs. Perhaps this time she’ll be lucky and drown in her sleep before the pain resurfaces. 


	5. Five*

The dove-gray sky is littered with sluggish clouds. Frost covers the roses and every free patch of grass, forbidding the men on guard from practicing in the courtyard. Those on patrol move with ice in their veins, their steps sedated, eyes trapped in a half-lidded position from the blistering winds of the west. 

Gavril walks his rounds with a brisk enthusiasm, as if there is nothing else he would prefer to be doing on a Wednesday afternoon. Prince Harry stalks toward him, cape threatening to fly from his shoulders with each step. He’s not wearing his standard marks of opulence today, opting for a handmade woolen tunic he saves for moments of weakness.

His eyes are as sharp as the sword his father gave him for his tenth birthday. “Where is she?”

Gavril’s expression retains its usual stone-faced demeanor. He can’t tell if the Prince is overcome with anger or hurt, or some awful combination of both. Whatever the case, he stares Gavril down like he’s a fragile vase, just waiting for the right opportunity to topple over and cause a commotion. 

“Where is who, your Highness?”

A vein in Harry’s neck threatens to burst through his skin as he shoves Gavril into the brick fortified castle wall. “Do not take me for a fool. Where is she?”

He hasn’t seen Brielle for eight days. For all he knows, she could have run off without bothering to say goodbye. Without her, all he’s left with are useless pieces of gold and paintings of a beautiful ghost. 

Gavril wants to laugh. The poor Prince doesn’t know where his scorned lover went after claiming she’s the only one he wants. But, as much as he deserves the ridicule, a word from his privileged mouth can have him jailed. Gavril weighs his options too long and his temper speaks for itself. “Why should you care after the carelessness you’ve shown to her feelings?” 

The fire in his eyes relents, leaving only clouds of smoke in its wake. Compared to the other guards, Gavril is more his friend than a guard employed by his parents. He’s distanced himself over the years, yet, the truth still burns Harry more than he thought it would. 

Harry’s jaw relaxes, his fingers releasing their hold on the edges of his breastplate. He stares at Gavril for a long moment, breathing in deep lungfuls of biting air. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and opens them again. “Where is she?”

“In the medical wing.”

“Why?”

Gavril straightens his back and shoulders. “Find out for yourself.”

Harry walks off in the direction of the medical wing so fast he might as well just run. The cruel winter air tears at his cheeks, drawing blood to the surface and moisture to his eyes. The servants in the hall watch him sprint down the long corridor as if he’s set the castle on fire. 

Master Avery hears his frantic footfalls and stands in the open doorway, hand up to stop him from destroying patient beds and important medical equipment. “Stop there, my boy. You musn’t come any further.”

Every muscle in his body tenses as he fights to restrain himself. “And why is that?”

Master Avery holds his stare for fifteen seconds and withers under the pressure. He’s never seen the Prince so swept with anger and isn’t sure how to proceed without igniting his temper. “She’s contagious. We can’t risk—”

Harry pushes past the elderly man. Contagious or not, he’s going to see Brielle. 

The room is all but empty with a single bed near the heart of the void that’s taken over the medical wing during the last few months. Without any battles to be fought, there isn’t much need for healing. 

Brielle is fast asleep under a single white sheet, her face a sickly pallor despite the fever running through her veins. Her eyelids flutter so much, he’s worried that her eyes might fall out of her skull the moment she tries to open them. 

Master Avery trails after him with an infant's pace. 

“What’s wrong with her?”

She looks dead. She can’t be dead...if she’s dead he’ll be—

“Consumption. You really shouldn’t be in here.”

Harry runs his left hand through his hair, glancing between Brielle and Master Avery. “Consumption? No, she can’t have consumption.”

Brielle’s faltering breath fills the room. She mumbles incoherent sentences and shifts in her sleep. 

An ugly feeling takes root in Harry’s chest, slowing his breathing and recalling memories he’d rather not remember. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine a life without her: a void of desolate conversations with himself and the walls and a crown far too heavy for him to bear alone. “How long?”

Master Avery hesitates, looking about the room and twisting his hands behind his back. “Not much longer.”

“Have you...have you done the best you’re capable of doing?” There are dozens of remedies out there from flowers to miracle workers. He’s not certain of how each works, but they’re worth trying if it means he gets to keep Brielle in his life.

“I’ve done what I can.”

Brielle is mumbling again, combining her letters with such a soft volume he can’t discern a single word.

“Have you tried those flowers? The ones everyone talks about?”

Master Avery looks at his hands and then at the wall behind Harry. “No.” He doesn’t believe in the remedies desperate people try when their loved ones are staring death in the face. Even if he did, there aren’t any remedies that follow any sort of logic. “No, I haven’t.”

Harry replies with a brief nod. “Try them.”

“Your Highness—”

“Try everything. Do not rest until you find something that works.”

“I don’t have—”

Harry’s eyes harden. The vein in his neck is pulsating again. “You have my funding. Now, do it.”

Master Avery leaves the room. He’s replaced by three guards, probably sent by his mother.

“Don’t come any further. Leave and continue your rounds.” 

They haven’t taken more than three steps. Knowing better than to argue with him, they oblige and retrace their steps.

Harry takes a deep breath and lifts his free hand to place the few strands of hair that cling to Brielle’s fevered forehead behind her ear. She’s always had a radiance about her, even in her sleep. Even now, as she sits on death’s doorstep, there’s a light beneath her skin that draws him toward her. 

Two entire rotations pass in silence as he waits for Brielle to wake up. He’s thinking about what she’ll look like if they have to lay her to rest, what her roses will become without her tender care. Master Avery retired to his quarters halfway through the first rotation and, despite Harry’s orders, the guards have returned to the hall to watch Harry from the doorway. 

While Harry’s contemplating asking the guards to retire early and spend time with their families, Brielle idles into wakefulness. 

She’s hardly managed to open her eyes, but it feels like the light in the room wants to burn holes through her pupils. Someone is sitting beside her, watching over her bed the way dolls watch over the rooms of little girls. “Harry?”

No, he’s not here. Every time she wakes, she’s either alone or visited by Gavril or her parents. Harry only visits her in her dreams. When she sees him, he’s returned to the sweet boy she grew up with who gave her sweets and chased her around the castle for kisses that only ever lasted for a moment. He doesn’t leave her side in dreams. 

Harry stumbles over his own limbs, almost falling out of the uncomfortable chair he’s been sitting in for half the day. “Hey.” 

He smiles the way he did when his mother told him they couldn’t bring her with the on their trip to Paris. Brielle looks to her hand and notices he’s been holding it. “What are you—” a cough that rattles in her chest and squeezes her lungs interrupts her, “—doing here?”

Harry’s smile vanishes. “You’ve been gone for over a week. The moment I found out where you were, I came to see you.”

Brielle’s first instinct is to send him away. All he’s done is place her in a position to be hurt: made her a pawn in his game of hearts. She doesn’t want him near her. And she wants him to kiss her forehead and tell her that he won’t leave, that he won’t ever trade her for another woman ever again. She doesn’t want to die without seeing him one last time.

“What about Kinsley?”

She watches his eyebrows pull together as his eyes stare at their hands. “What about Kinsley?”

Another cough smothers her as she tries to speak. “You’re courting her.”

Harry shakes his head, his lips affixed in a permanent frown. “Is that what you think of me?”

Brielle keeps her thoughts to herself and just about chokes herself trying to hold in another cough. 

“She and I are not courting. She believes we are, but my feelings do not run deeper than friendship. My parents...they are not pleased that I remain unwed. Taking a liking to someone means that I can continue to draw out the process rather than letting them choose a bride for me. Kinsley...she’s better than the rest, but she’s nothing compared to you. I...you never opened my letter.”

“I was afraid it would make me feel worse than I already do.” She’s coughing again. The pain so intense that it feels like someone is inside her chest, swinging an axe at her lungs. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth. Harry’s hand is squeezing hers with so much pressure she’s certain he’ll break the bones if he keeps it up for much longer.

He releases his grip the moment he sees the look on her face. He begins looking for something to capture the blood that comes with the next cough. 

Brielle struggles to wave him off as she wipes her mouth with the back of her left hand. “It’s not that bad, yet.” She knows that it is, but if he sees how weak she feels, he’ll coddle her like a child and forget everything she’s said to him within the last month.

“That’s not what Master Avery told me earlier.”

She avoids meeting his eyes, staring at his hands in his lap. He’s wearing six different rings, every one of them a present from his mother. If she looks at him now, she’ll forgive him in a single breath. 

He reaches for her hand again, his fingers hesitant to breach the wall between them. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to hurt me anymore.” 

Brielle begins to cough so much that silence is impossible. Harry helps her sit up, placing a hand in the small of her back and rubbing small circles until her lungs allow her to breathe again. 

“What I’ve done is awful, but I would never do something with the intention to hurt you, Elle.”

She doesn’t know what he expects her to say. From what she knows, it seems like he’s only being doing things to push her further away from him. He’s been selfish, just like he was taught to be. 

Harry’s taken her hand again, his jade eyes focused on her fingers as if they hold secrets beneath her skin. “Do you still have the letter? And the box?”

She nods and he kisses the top of her hand. “Could I get them? There’s something I...something I’d like you to see.”

“Harry…”

“Please? I need you too see it.”

Brielle nods and shifts away from him until she’s laying on her side. Harry stops in the doorway, smiling like there’s a war being waged in his chest as well. “I’ll be back.”

She doesn’t let herself believe his words. He’s said them too many times and too many times he’s left her waiting for a promise that never came. 

Harry pushes his way past the guards on his way toward the servants’ quarters. He hasn’t been down to see the staff in months, yet he still knows the way by heart. Everything is so sparse down here, like no one has bothered to refurbish anything since the castle was built. 

If he had his way, he would redesign everything about the area. He would make it comfortable for everyone. They don’t see the value in it, though. Since he’s not yet a King, he has very little say in the matter. 

Quite a few people have been added to the staff in the last few weeks, and each face that lands on his looks bewildered as he walks through the entryway as if he belongs there, too. The elderly people stare with horror and the younger people watch with fascination. 

“Can anyone tell me where June is?”

Nothing, not even an opening and closing of a single mouth. 

A little girl of about ten walks toward him with tentative steps. “Prince Harry?”

He smiles and sinks to his knees to meet her eyes. “You can call me Harry. What’s your name?”

She smiles so wide in return that he’s afraid her cheeks will burst. “Nora!”

“What a pretty name for a pretty girl! Have you seen June?”

Nora nods and points to the doorway he knows belongs to Brielle and her family. There are some sweets in his pocket from his visit to town early in the morning, and he takes two out and places them in her palm. “Thank you so very much, Nora. Don’t eat these too fast, they’ll upset your tummy, okay?”

She throws her arms around his neck, hugging him with as much force as she can muster in her small body. “Thank you, Prince Harry!”

Harry returns her hug, a hint of joy breaking through his grief forged smile. “You are so very welcome!”

He kisses Nora’s cheek. She runs back to her mother in a fit of giggles. 

The sheet covering the open doorway is pulled to the side, allowing a small glimpse into the sparse entryway. He hesitates, hand poised to knock. Twenty-two years of grooming feels out of place down here, away from extravagant paintings and useless decorations. “June? May I come in?”

Someone shuffles around in the furthest part of the room. He hopes it isn’t Elle’s father, Holden. The man has a distaste for him that resembles Harry’s abhorrence for lessons. 

June pulls the curtain away, her eyes an angry, red from crying. She’s holding a stuffed bear that Brielle used to carry around when she was four years old. “Harry?”

Harry steps toward her, forgetting every manner he’s been taught and wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. Tears pool in his eyes, tiny wells of sorrow he never expected to wear. “I’m so sorry.”

She sobs, her entire body shaking as it leans against his. He’s only managed to make things worse. She’s his mother as much as she is Brielle’s. Seeing her so devastated makes him feel like he’s been run over by a wagon. “I’ll make sure she’s treated well. You have my word.”

June clings to him the way moss clings to rocks for two long minutes before she pulls herself away and wipes at her eyes. She opens her mouth only for the words to choke her and force it closed once more. 

“She’s resting. I’ve asked Master Avery to try everything at his disposal and otherwise. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I...I gave her something that she never opened, and I want her to know what’s inside.” 

June steps away from the doorway, her fingers gripping the open frame as if they are frozen solid. “She’s slept with the box and the letter in a trunk under her bed every night. I thought it might have been yours.”

Harry lowers his eyes, staring at his shoes rather than seeing the hurt he’s inflicted on both women. “If she does not wish to hear me, will you tell her that I—that I have always loved her? Only her. Regardless of the mistakes I’ve made, she’s the only one that holds my heart.”

June’s lips tremble and form a hint of a smile as she lifts his chin. “She knows.”

The box is heavy in his hands. All eyes are on him as he makes his way back to the medical wing. He might as well have handed his crown to a stranger on the street. 

Regardless of his protests, three guards flank him. Apparently, he only matters to his parents when he’s doing something that goes against their desires. “If you have been sent here to keep me from seeing her, I suggest you leave before I order you to.”

“Your Highness—”

“You will not keep me from her. Go. Now, before I take all three of you off rotation.”

All three men walk away with expressions made of stone. Harry sighs and shakes his head. He detests having to throw around his authority. Without his parents around, he had no other choice. If he was allowed to make his own decisions without the influence of a crown, the men patrolling the grounds for all hours of the day would spend more time with their families and less time protecting his from ghosts. 

Brielle is fighting consciousness, forcing her eyes open each time they close for more than a moment. He sits beside her in the god-awful chair that makes his backside feel like it is made of lead. “Hi.”

She replies with a cough that makes him cringe. “Hi.”

Keeping her awake only seems to make the coughing worse. “Get some rest, love. I can explain this later.”

She shakes her head far too quickly than she should, and closes her eyes. If she focuses her breathing, she can avoid the blood that’s sure to come with the next cough. All she has to do is concentrate. “No. There won’t be a later.”

Harry bites his lip. There’s a chance that she’s right, but it doesn’t make seeing her this way hurt any less. “Would you like me to read the letter and explain?”

Brielle doesn’t answer, too intent to suppress another tearing cough.

 

**Elle,**

 

**I owe you a thousand apologies. All of which, will never be enough to atone for the pain I’ve caused you. I should have never forced you to speak with me the way that I did, and I certainly shouldn’t have broken your trust. Every night, I lie awake thinking about how good you’ve been to me: how I took you for granted and made excuses to you and myself about what was going on. There are many things I’m not proud of, but hurting you is by far the most haunting.**

**No more excuses. My actions are my own and I carried them out regardless of the reason. I will regret them for the rest of my life.**

**You may not ever forgive me, but i want you to know that you are the only woman I have EVER loved with every inch of my heart. Only you. No matter the paths we take, that will never change.**

**There’s something I want you to know, even if you cannot find it in your beautiful heart to forgive me.**

**When you were fourteen, my parents were beginning to discuss marriage with me. They told me I could have anyone I wanted from any neighboring Kingdom, but I would have to make the choice by my eighteenth birthday. But I’d already made my choice, and my choice has always been you.**

**My father does not carry the same emotions as mother. He was done with the matter the moment I’d been told my option. But mother, she’s always paid attention to the little things, that’s why she’s such a good Queen. She’s never told me anything directly, but I believe she’s always known where my heart rests. I asked her how long I could remain without a wife before I lost all choice in the matter. She told me I had until I was twenty-two.**

**A few days later, I went into town and had a ring made for you. You were only fourteen, but I knew I loved you enough to last five lifetimes and, if I could choose, I would always choose you. But we were so young. I didn’t want to be a husband you couldn’t depend upon. I didn’t want to give up everything without being able to take care of you. I kept the ring and started hiding away small sums of money to keep us afloat after I denied the crown.**

**Do you remember that big, wide open space in the woods we found when we were ten? I found it again and it was covered in those pink flowers that you love. I took you there once after that, to avoid etiquette class. Do you remember that? You always asked me to bring you flowers whenever I left the grounds.**

**When you were seventeen, I paid some craftsmen to build a house for you—for us. I thought you’d love to live by all those pink flowers, away from all the commotion.**

**The ball will take place in a few days, and I know it isn’t fair of me to ask, but I want to allow you to decide what you want instead of what I want.**

**I put the ring in the box, beneath all the pink flowers. It was made for you and I don’t want anyone else to have it. Mother expects me to announce my decision at the ball. If there isn’t one, they will select one for me.**

**I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, or your love, but if you can find it in your heart to give me one last chance, I promise you that I won’t ever waste it.**

**No matter your decision, the ring is yours. If there’s still a part of you that can hold on to the dolt who broke your heart, wear it to the ball. You’re still the only woman I want to marry. If you wear the ring, the entire Kingdom will know and I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the pain I’ve caused you.**

**You will always be far more important than the crown.**

 

Brielle’s eyes remind him of the hidden waterfalls in the forest. “Harry, I didn’t…”

Harry opens the box, rummaging through dead flowers until his fingers catch the smooth metal he’s been searching for. His fingers shake as he takes her left hand and slides the ring on to her finger. The look on her face is the same look she had when she caught him with Catherine. 

“Why did you do it?”

Her eyes are full of storms as they meet his. His breathing stops, trapped in the middle of his throat. Pressure builds in his chest, forcing the air up until it is forced to exit. “Some stupid part of me thought that distancing myself from you was the best way to avoid the pain that came with having to let you go, someday. Having to give you to another man.

“I thought that if I loved you with everything, I couldn’t allow myself to ruin your life. If I couldn’t keep my promise, I didn’t want to ruin you for another man and leave an ugly mark on your reputation. But I couldn’t force myself to let you go. I just couldn’t. I’m the biggest dolt in Alaria.”

A cough that sounds like its breaking her ribs flies from her chest, sending blood dripping down the corner of her mouth. 

Brielle sobs as Harry reaches for a clean cloth on her bedside table. “I don’t want to die.”

Tears shatter Harry’s composure and drift down his cheeks in rivers. “I don’t want you to die, either. Master Avery is going to try  _ everything _ to keep you here.”

“It h-hurts so much.”

His lips meet her cheek. They feel like soft summer clouds. “I know, baby.”

Minutes pass by like centuries. Brielle’s coughs break against the smothering silence. “Were you really going to marry me if I wore the ring to your ball?”

Harry’s lips lift around the edges. His thumb runs gentle lines atop hers. He would have proclaimed it at the top of his lungs wearing the largest smile he’s capable of. If his father disapproved, he would have taken his crown from his head and handed it to him without another word on the matter. “That was my intention, yes.”

“What happens if I survive this?”

The softness in his eyes reminds her of the late afternoons they used to spend in the woods, counting fallen leaves and staring at the sky to find the best cloud in existence. 

“That will be your decision. For the time being, I must appease my parents, but, if you can give me one final chance, I will remove my crown one last time to leave all this behind and spend my life with you in the house by the pink flowers.”

Outside, the stars have already come to life. Half of Alaria is preparing to settle down for the evening, tucking their little ones in bed and finishing off the last of the wine. Brielle can’t keep her eyes open for much longer.

“And Kinsley?”

“My heart belongs to you, not Kinsley.”

Brielle hums, allowing her eyes to fall shut. She needs rest no matter how much she resists it. Harry stares at her for a long moment, knowing he should retire to his chambers but not wanting to leave her side. His parents are going to strangle him when they find out he’s spent the entire day in the medical wing with an extreme risk of contracting consumption himself. 

He leans over her bed and kisses her with a gentleness that mothers reserve for their children. “Sleep well, my love.”


	6. Six*

Around noon every day, Harry disregards his duties and visits Brielle in the medical wing. She’s asleep most times. He sits by her bedside and talks to her about their childhood and what it felt like to fall in love with her, holding her hand and glancing at her eyes every few moments to see if she’s awake.

She looks the same as she did the first day he came to see her: pale with flushed cheeks and a fevered forehead. He can’t tell if any of the cures Master Avery is trying are working. They don’t seem to be, but he’s never been taught anything about medicines or cures of any sort. 

Kinsley returned to Sithara a few days after he started visiting. Said it was a business affair, but he knows he was being too distant with her. She probably thinks he’s lost all interest. He wants to tell her that he hasn’t, but if he does he’ll tell her that he was never interested in the first place. The sad reality is that he might not ever be interested in anyone else the way he’s interested in Brielle. 

In the last few months, a lot of women have come to the castle and Kinsley happened to be the least horrible of them all. Nix talked only of herself and the gown she would wear on her wedding day, Edith held her breath and spoke so softly he had to lean over and strain his back to hear her, Amira thought nothing was good enough for her, and Lucia took every opportunity to press herself on him. Kinsley was the only one to actually talk to him instead of staring at him and waiting for a proposal by the end of the evening. 

She’s a lot like Brielle: kind, loving, and owning a contagious smile. And she loves flowers—roses though, not the strange little weeds Brielle adores. Although, the longer he spent in her presence, the more her kindness felt disingenuous. Since she’s left, he’s had more time to focus on Brielle. Master Avery is doing what he’s asked of him, trying every method known to the surrounding area and monitoring her progress in hopes that something will work. There aren’t many people who survive consumption, and Harry’s praying that Brielle will be lucky enough to be in that small percentile; that he’s lucky enough to have one more chance to repair the heart that he’s broken. 

Harry’s been drinking the heaviest liquors he can find, drowning himself in careless consumption to avoid the crushing weight the news of Brielle’s death will make. A few guards have given him questionable looks, but he’s too far into the spiral to care. He’s the Prince: he can do as he pleases. 

If Brielle dies, he has nothing. The stupid crown atop his head means nothing without her beside him. She’s the woman responsible for making Alaria stand out from any of the other Kingdoms, the woman who’s made him a better person, nurturing his heart the way she nurtures the roses: she’s his crown.

 

* * *

 

Time evaporates faster with each swig Harry takes from the bottle of buron that he hates. His father’s noticed his drinking and instructed the staff to monitor him and what he takes from the stores. Irritated, Harry’s resorted to going into the village and buying the first alcoholic beverage he sees. Only a few villagers have noticed. He doesn’t want to worry them, but drinking distracts his mind and sleep is far better once he’s fallen into oblivion.

Sometimes Gavril steps in to visit Brielle when he’s away. He looks at Harry like he’s a worthless sot. Harry can’t help that he doesn’t want to hurt her more than he already has. He can’t stay for more than a few hours—seeing her so frail keeps him up all night, and she’s still upset with him. Interrupting her rest all day will only make things worse. 

Bringing her sweets and sitting for a few hours is all he can handle. She never eats them, but he knows that she loves them and that she would if she was fully conscious for more than a few moments a day. 

Today’s hour is lost in a matter of minutes. Harry’s passed out in the hall until midday when a guard shakes his shoulder and mutters. “Prince Harry?”

Harry groans, his eyes forcing themselves together in a weak attempt to retain the hold sleep has over them. There’s an excruciating pain in his side, and it feels like someone has chopped off his ankle. Sleeping on the floor wasn’t the best idea.  “What is it?”

Shuffling and a slightly louder sentence. “Your mother requests your presence in the Throne Room, your Highness.” 

He knew this would come sooner or later. Leniency only goes so far. The last time he took advantage of his title, his mother scolded him for three hours on what it meant to be royalty. He listened to all of three sentences before he started looking out the window for Brielle. “Tell her that I’ll be in shortly.”

What feels like all of two minutes pass before the guard walks away. Harry staggers to his feet and stumbles through the empty hallways. A few paintings and vases clatter to the floor. He’ll have to fix that later. 

There’s a high likelihood that he looks like he’s just been run over by a wagon. As much as he wants to retire to his chambers, he must keep up with appearances. God only knows what his father will do if he’s present sees him walk in wearing wrinkled clothing and dark circles under his eyes. 

His room is a mess. There are clothes everywhere and the bed sheets look like he’s thrown them on the bed and rolled around in them for a fortnight. He can’t even count how many bottles are on the floor. 

Someone has been kind enough to lay out a clean set of clothes for him. June. She’s always making sure his clothing is fit for a King, no matter how horrible his chambers look. He needs to do more for the servants. They shouldn’t have to live like they’re insignificant in a castle with more than enough space to accommodate them.  

Harry drags his feet, feeling the smoothness of the floor trace across his toes as he walks into the privy. He trips over an empty bottle just before the opening to the room. Harry lies on the floor, his head and back aching from the impact. He’s too exhausted to make much in the way of complaints. It’s his fault anyway. This is all his fault. Brielle wouldn’t be sick if he didn’t ruin everything. 

The mirror is daunting. He doesn’t want to see the misery written on his face. Feeling it is another story. He wants to feel the pain of rejection. Wants to feel failure. Wants to feel the deep pit in his chest that he’s hand carved. Seeing the ravages of hopelessness and despair makes escape a possibility. 

Perhaps his mother will put him out of his misery. He’s not been setting a good example for anyone as of late. No one wants a drunken King. He doesn’t want to be King. The responsibility is one thing, but the countless rules and the eyes watching him at every turn make him want to vomit. 

The marble is cold beneath his fingertips and the water feels like ice as he splashes his face. Everything feels frozen without Brielle. She’s such a warm person to be around, and he has no idea why he ever thought what he was doing with other women would hurt less in the end. Gluttonous scoundrel. 

Seven guards watch him with wary eyes as he makes his way to the Throne Room, crimson cape trailing behind him. He wishes someone would ask if he’s alright. Growing up as an heir has a lot of nice things, but one of the worst is not having friends. Brielle was the only one who got him through endless lonely nights and blistering afternoons when all he wanted to do was run away and never come back. 

And now he’s losing her. Being King of Alaria wasn’t such a bad idea when she was by his side. Now it feels daunting and lonesome. Kinsley is a nice woman, but he doesn’t think she can bring as much warmth to his heart or to the Kingdom as Brielle does. No one has ever made him feel the way she does. 

Too much time has passed and he’s been careless, walked himself in circles. Caldwell finds him. He’s too far gone that he doesn’t bother keeping his appearance any longer and decides to find the way himself. He’s hungover and heartbroken and desolate, and damn it, he needs help.

“Could you bring me to the throne room?”

Caldwell is fighting off a friendly laugh. “Are you alright, your Highness?”

Harry drags his left hand through his hair. “Harry. Just...call me Harry. No, I’m not alright.”

The walk to the Throne Room is drenched in silence. Caldwell doesn’t know what to say, he’s never really spoken to Harry much outside of training and a few strange waves around the castle. Harry’s too hungover to even attempt making conversation beyond what is necessary. Caldwell probably thinks he’s an embarrassment, too. 

His mother is happy when he walks into the room. Although, she isn’t angry like he expected her to be either. She looks like she’s pleased that he’s alive, but angry with the state he’s in, her eyebrows trapped in the middle of her forehead and her smile treading on disdain. 

Caldwell stands by the door, his face blank of any expression. He’s unsure of what he’s supposed to do in these moments and figures it best to wait until he is told to do otherwise.

Anne looks between Caldwell and her son and smiles the false smile he’s grown used to. “You may go. I need to speak to my son in private.”

Harry feels like he’s six years old and he’s just been caught sneaking sweets to the other kids in the village. He wasn’t allowed to leave the castle for an entire month. Brielle was busy on the other side of the castle, sewing the hems of dresses and mending silk shirts while his mother made him take extra etiquette lessons. 

His mother avoids taking a stern tone, but the straightforward tone of her voice lets him know that she’s upset. His father has already said his piece. Every time Richard is angry, he speaks to Anne beforehand so he can sit on his throne with a sour expression that’s meant to look intimidating, but Harry thinks he looks like he’s eaten a rotten piece of meat. 

Anne leans forward in her throne, just enough to show that she’s not putting on a show. Richard scoffs and continues to stare at the wall behind Harry’s head. “What’s going on? You’re not acting like yourself.”

Somehow, her asking doesn’t feel as forced as he thought it would. There’s no hint of practiced speech or undertones of disappointment today. 

Everything he’s feeling rushes up at once and floods his lungs, suffocating him until the words are strong enough to break through the chokehold on his vocal cords. “Brielle’s dying and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. She’s the only one I...the only one I have.”

He watches his mother rise from her throne and cross the room with her words tucked behind her teeth. She’s only given him a few fleeting moments where she’s overlooked his actions and shown him the affection that his nursemaid’s used to show him while he was growing up. She hasn’t been distant to the point of entirely ignoring his existence, but she hasn’t been there for him when he needed her like June has been there for him and Brielle. Harry still cares for her though, just in a way he still doesn’t quite understand. 

Harry stands stiff as his mother wraps her arms around him and smooths the back of his hair. She’s hugging him and all he wants to do is break all the walls he’s constructed to keep his relationship with Brielle hidden. He wants to tell her about their secret meetings, how many nights he spent lying awake while she slept beside him with her arms under her head because the pillow was too soft. Wants to tell her every little thing he loves about her and how unashamed he is to love her. But he can’t. Being a Queen will always come first. The moment she learns the truth, she’ll send Brielle away if she lives through the consumption. 

“I know, Harry. I know.”

He can’t keep the meager hold he has on his composure any longer and tears race down his cheeks. “I don’t want her to go. She’s all I have.”

“She’s a strong woman, she’ll be okay.”

Anne retracts, leaving the space where her arms were devoid of pressure. Her eyes meet his and, for a moment, she has nothing to say. He wants her to hug him again, tell him that Brielle won’t die because she has to stay and keep him happy, but she won’t. 

“Then we’ll lay her to rest like a Queen.” She wipes away a speck of dirt on his cheek with her thumb. “Please watch your drinking. I understand it hurts, but you cannot behave like a commoner.” 

Something has changed in her eyes, the gray in them looks softer. There’s something she’s not telling him, something important and consuming she’s felt before, something containing the same pain radiating through his chest. “Mother, did you…?” 

Anne smiles and shakes her head. “Conversation for another time. Get some rest, I hate to see you so worn.”

Or she hates to see him acting so normal. He can never tell, it’s like she’s got a switch hidden somewhere that flips between royalty and normalcy and it’s difficult to separate the two with a solid distinction. 

Harry kisses her cheek and quits the room, his lungs still strangling him. He spends the remainder of his night beside Brielle. She’s fast asleep, her veins a stark, bruising beneath her skin. He’s terrified that she’ll leave in the next moment, only returning to him in memories that will grow weak the longer he keeps them. And he still doesn’t know what to say to her. Everything he’s spoken isn’t accurate enough and he wants her to know,  _ needs  _ her to know the way she makes him feel every time she’s near. 

And all he’s done is neglect her and every single one of the servants. He’s watched her grow so thin he could see the structure of her bones beneath her skin, seen her clothes tear and mend themselves the next day and repeat the process until they were falling apart, and all he’s done is accept it, never question why her life is so different from his, never tried to fix something within his grasp. She’s lived in his home all his life and he’s let her and the others live like they’re insignificant, like they’re worth less than everyone else. 

He’s tired of hiding in his castle, alone and careless of people he sees every day. Renovations will start the next morning. He’ll break whatever rules he has to. All the servants will move into guest rooms for the time being, no matter what his parents say. If he’s going to be the next King, he’s damn well going to take care of those who make his position possible. No one in Alaria will be ignored. 

Every room will be expanded and all the furniture will be replaced. There’s not enough space on the grounds to build everyone a home of their own, but he’s going to build a few for the families that have been cramped in tiny spaces since before he was born. 

Alaria will be next. He may be a terrible lover, but he’s damn well going to be a great King.


	7. Seven*

Bright light streams into the room, unimpeded by the curtains that decorate the windows. Someone outside is hitting something so hard that the sound travels through the walls in deep waves. 

Brielle is slow to open her eyes, caught somewhere between a fading dream and reality. She feels like she’s been asleep for a fortnight and her legs feel like they’re made of a strange, agonizing stone. There’s too much sunlight. Everything burns, forcing her to squint.

“Harry?” Her voice splinters and she feels like fire ants have made a nest in her throat. 

Thirty seconds pass and the harshness of the light fades. Brielle’s in a room she doesn’t recognize. A room that’s too nice with its plush carpets and gigantic armoire. Expensive oil paintings line the walls, none of which she recognizes. 

“Harry!?” She tries again, unsure of what else to do. She could be in an entire different castle for all she knows. 

In the chambers nextdoor, Harry falls out of bed in his haste to get to Brielle. Master Avery told him that, this time, she might not wake up again. For weeks, she was conscious for a few brief moments, and when she was, they did everything they could to get some food and water into her system. Harry sat by her side for every hour of the day, waiting for her to wake up. 

Brielle doesn’t know what to expect. She could be nextdoor to the guard’s chambers or someone she’s never met before. There’s a poker in front of the fireplace, but she knows she isn’t capable of using it, even if her life is threatened. 

There are two doors, one three sizes too large like the one on Harry’s chambers, and one with a taller height than normal doors and positioned on the wall near the window. She’s staring at the smaller door when the knob twists and it bursts open as if blown by a harsh wind. 

Harry enters the room and she forgets to blink. He looks like he’s been out on a battlefield, hair all over the place and bruising shadows under his eyes. 

Brielle bites the inside of her cheek, forgetting the panic she felt only a moment ago. His eyes have the same effect they held when she was twelve and just noticing how strange and beautiful their green coloring is. War is ravaging in her chest, telling her to get away from him and bring him closer in the same moment. His name was the first she called, without thought, but she doesn’t know how to approach him. 

Her eyes glisten in the sunlight, unshed tears refusing to settle within her eyes. “Where am I?”

Two swallows glide by the window, their delicate wings dipping to aid their descent among the trees in the courtyard. Harry crosses the room and sits at the edge of her bed. A nervous smile that she’s only caught four other times rests without complaint on his lips. “The Princess Suite. I’ve been...making some changes and I thought it better for you to be in here instead of the freezing medical wing. 

Brielle rubs her eyes, a yawn marring the first two words out of her mouth. “How long have I been asleep?”

Harry avoids her eyes, scared of the answer himself. “Just under a month. Master Avery said you might not see the sunlight again.”

She stares at him for a long moment, debating with herself over what’s real and what’s imaginary. Everything about this moment feels fabricated. “I’m not...I’m not dead?”

She hasn’t attempted to pinch herself yet, which Harry finds strange. Brielle always pinched herself when they were younger, telling him he wasn’t real: that he was made up in her dreams. It didn’t matter if she was awake, she would do it anyway just to be certain that everything was as it should be. He never understood why she did it until she fell prey to consumption. Such things were strange and he was afraid to pay them too much mind in case he picked up those habits himself. While she was resting in the medical wing, he was drinking and thinking about the small things he missed that suddenly made so much sense. 

Brielle always noticed the way he looked at her when she did something he found strange. She was far too happy to have his attention to ever point it out. In those rare moments when she did, Harry was quick to brush it off and change the subject. She never told him to treat her any different from anyone else, and didn’t think he did until she could feel herself dying with every breath. 

Still at the edge of the bed, Harry watches his fingers as they grab hold of part of the blanket and trace the stitching. There’s a weaning smile on his lips. “No, you’re still here.”

Brielle releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her eyes drift to the window and the growing sounds of construction. Construction hasn’t touched the grounds since Harry begged his mother to let him pay someone to build them a treehouse on the edge of the perimeter. He talked about it every day, imagining what they would do with a space of their own, a space without rules. The first thing he did was kiss her until she couldn’t remember how to breathe the right way. 

Neither of them has ventured near the treehouse in five years. 

A blend of confusion and heartbreak blankets her features. “Are they taking down the treehouse?”

Harry laughs, the sound soft like the sheets beneath her. “You heard construction and thought I was having them take down one of the few things that make me happy?”

He speaks as if the very idea is the most ridiculous thing he’s heard and it makes her heart ache again. Few things make him happy: fencing, painting, reading, and her. He used to tell her she was the best thing on his small list, that as long as she was around, he would always be happy. Yet, he distanced himself from her before she knew it was happening, allowing her heart contentment in a lie. 

Brielle sighs and shifts her attention to a painting of wild flowers to avoid looking at him. She doesn’t want to see the expression he makes, it might change her mind. “I don’t know what to expect anymore.”

A guard knocks on the door and speaks like he’s announcing something grand. “Prince Harry, Master Avery would like to speak with you.”

Caldwell. He’s one of the nicer guards that will always say hello or wave when anyone walks by. 

Brielle turns her palms up and stares at her hands, observing each line and every accidental needle scar that span the small space. If she looks at Harry again, the hole in her chest with grow and devour everything that’s left. No matter what he’s told her, he’s found someone else. He’ll marry someone else and forget all about her.

She’s still staring at her hands when Harry leaves the bed and opens the door. Caldwell makes no change in expression, waiting for the Prince to answer. “Harry. Just Harry. Please tell Master Avery that I will speak with him later.”

Caldwell nods, his eyes watching the two in curiosity. He’s never heard anyone else call the Prince by his given name other than Brielle. Either something terrible has happened or he’s changing more than everyone thought. He catches Brielle’s eye and tries to smile, but it looks more like someone has forced his lips up. “Yes, your Highness. Welcome back, Brielle.”

Brielle watches his face disappear, listening to his receding footsteps even after Harry closes the door. 

“I don’t think he likes me very much. I’ve been working on being friendlier, but it looks like all I do is irritate everyone further.”

She knows better. Aside from his parents and Gavril, there are few people who find him irritating in any manner. “No, he’s afraid of why you’re being so friendly. All anyone has seen you be cordial to are me...and Kinsley. They’re not used to the person you are beneath the crown.”

He’s looking at her like she’s just told him everyone loathes him. Brielle doesn’t think she’s seen him look so injured by a thought since he realized his parents can never accept her. “Am I so bad that my own staff think I’m being friendly for another purpose?”

Brielle shrugs, her response a near whisper. “You’re not bad. You just haven’t shown them what you’ve shown me all these years.”

Harry’s silent for too long. Brielle’s fingers dance over the soft bedding. “What’s going on, Harry?”

It’s been three years since she’s seen him this bothered about something. He was upset the day she found out about his affairs, but this is a deeper pain that doesn’t quite reach the surface. All his life, he’s been groomed to ignore what everyone thinks of him—what everyone says. Now, his training is wearing thin and she’s worried about what that means. He’s hurt her, but he’s loved her, too. 

“I haven’t been the Prince that I should have been. I’ve just been floating by and hoping that the people of Alaria believe I can do something great for them. All I’ve done equates to nothing. When you fell ill, I drank a lot and sat with my thoughts for hours, letting them berate and consume me during every waking moment. You’ve always been there, helping me better myself and I’ve done nothing about it.”

A melancholy smile settles on his lips as his eyes follow hers to the window. “I’ve decided to start doing something. When the servants’ quarters are finished, I’ll make Alaria better, too. I’m not going to be a useless King.”

Brielle scoots closer to him until their sides are pressed against one another and takes his hand in hers. “You were never going to be a useless King, Harry.”

He doesn’t understand how she can be so kind to him after everything that he’s done to hurt her—how she can love him enough to remain his friend.

Harry meets her eyes and it looks like she’s searching for something. 

“Did you mean all the things you said in the letter?”

When she could hold her eyes open for more than a few moments, she read the letter over and over again, trying to discern how much of it was the crown and how much was his heart. As much as she wants to believe every word came from his heart, she knows that it wasn’t. He’s not in love with Kinsley, but he looks at her with the fond grace of a possible future love. 

The color in his eyes is dim today. “Do you honestly believe I would do that to you?”

Everything with him is complicated. She’s not sure of anything anymore: she shouldn’t even be alive. Everyone she’s known who’s contracted consumption died. Brielle has only heard of six other people living through the same hell. 

Brielle’s voice is almost quiet enough for him to miss. “I don’t know what to think.” She drops his hand and stands so he can’t reach for it again. “I’d like to go home.”

She doesn’t see him wince as she leaves. Afraid to make things worse than he already has, Harry doesn’t follow her. 

There isn’t much left of the servants’ quarters and the place looks like the storm swept through and took everyone’s belongings with it. A burning pain tears through her legs as she walks, reaching up further with each step. She wonders if this is what it feels like when the guards first begin their training. 

In the servants’ quarters, Brielle is met with clouds of dust and bustling people. The staff are still maintaining their routine amidst the chaos. Not a single face looks familiar. Brielle panics and checks every open doorway and every station. Every feature blurs together and she can’t tell who’s new and who’s been working alongside her for years. 

“Has anyone—” She’s walking herself in circles. “Has anyone seen June?”

A woman places her hand atop her shoulder and offers her a warm smile. “She’s in the garden.”

Brielle can’t remember her name, but she looks familiar. “Thank you.”

Outside, the world is alive with bright colors and swirling clouds. The air is colder than she remembers, yet the bright colors of the garden remain. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet perfume of the flowers for the first time in a month without coughing. 

June is removing the wilted petals, delicate with her seamstress’ fingers, her head tucked low as she tries to avoid thorns and knocking any of the pliant roses above the one she’s currently pruning. She doesn’t notice her daughter until she’s blocking the sunlight.

“Would you mind—” Her eyes widen and the scissors in her hand fall to the ground. Brielle doesn’t have a moment to get a word in before her mother’s arms are around her, holding her close, the way Harry used to hold his stuffed teddy bear when he was five. “You’re here.”

Warm tears create small puddles on Brielle’s dress. “I’m here, mum.”

Brielle closes her eyes and hugs her mother as tight as she can manage. For all of a moment, she forgets about watching Harry move on right in front of her. 

Leaves crunch behind them as Gavril approaches. He clears his throat to announce himself without startling them. “Might I interrupt?”

June wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and kisses her daughter’s cheek. “I’m so happy to have you back, Elle.”

Brielle’s eyes are watering so much that Gavril can see his reflection. “Happy to be back, mum. Will you catch me up at supper?”

“Certainly!”

Gavril tilts his head to the left and holds out his arm. “Could we take a walk, by any chance?”

Brielle smiles as she loops her arm through his. “If you don’t mind my sluggish pace. I fear that I’ve been asleep for far too long.”

“Nearly a month, if you ask the doctor. A century, if you ask me. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

She’s never seen him so...open before. He’s even smiling as they walk past other guards and staff members. Brielle’s never noticed before, but he’s got a handsome face. It’s not as angular as Harry’s, but it’s not repulsive either. And his smile changes every little feature. “You should smile more.”

Gavril’s dark eyes turn toward her, curious as his smile blossoms around the edges. “Pardon?”

Brielle laughs and the sound makes her regret not asking for water the moment she woke up. She’s missed the company of other human beings. Dreams were unpleasant for the longest time, she always saw Harry with someone else, and sometimes he was cruel like his father. She’s relieved to step back into the life she’s used to...except with Harry. Their relationship is never going to be the same, and she’s still uncertain of her feelings. “You’ve got a nice smile, show it more often! And don’t give me guff about being a guard. Plenty of the other guards smile.”

Pink hues paint the sky and cast a rosy glow over Alaria. Brielle’s not paying too much attention to where Gavril is leading her until she sees the treehouse hidden between low branches and bushels of dead flowers. Harry insisted they were necessary because she liked them.

Gavril hasn’t intended to bring her anywhere that would spark a memory. He can see the transformation taking hold over her eyes long before she stops walking. She still adores Harry even though it’s tearing her apart. 

_ Brielle squints against the rising sun as she watches people she’s never seen building the treehouse. She wonders what they do all day to have muscles that big, Harry trains with the guards but he doesn’t have any muscle near what they have. Her eyes drift to a bright patch moving toward the base of the tree. “Why are they planting all those flowers there?” _

_ Harry moves closer to her. Too afraid of getting too close and being seen, he takes his time parting the curtain so he can see out as well. She’s so close.  _

_ He’s been too caught up in watching her reactions to understand what she’s talking about. Brielle waits for his answer, her eyes still trained on the dozens of flowers being brought to the tree. “I asked them to.” _

_ Brielle stands up on her toes to get a better view of the vibrant blooms. She’s short for her age, small enough to avoid being considered a child, but short enough to not fit in with kids her own age. “They’re so pretty. Why do you want flowers in front of your treehouse?” _

_ Sometimes Harry can’t tell if she’s messing with him, or if she just doesn’t know how much he adores her. Perhaps she doesn’t, yet. He hasn’t exactly told her, and she is younger than him...but she’s smart, too. She must know on some level or another. Why is he so scared to tell her that he likes her...a bloody hell of a lot? _

_ “You like them, so I put them there for you. Who else would I share my treehouse with?” _

_ Brielle tries not to laugh. Her cheeks are the same color pink as those little weeds that she loves. Harry wishes he was able to capture a moment in a painting the moment it happens. Wants to paint her smile in its natural beauty and not the false image it gives during sittings. Even a blurry image would work.  _

_ She wraps her fingers around the curtain to her left. “The birds. I’m sure they’d love to peck at all that nice wood up there. Maybe they’ll love you enough to try to make a nest in your hair.” _

_ Harry laughs, smiling with her and letting the words filter through his head the way water flows through sand. A witty response ignites in his head, but it will spoil everything and he wants to leave the moment as it is.  _

_ Brielle’s smile disappears, her lips parting and her eyes softening. He’s either been staring for too long, or she’s started to notice that he likes her as more than just a friend. She doesn’t say anything, only drawing her lips up in a smile he doesn’t comprehend as she returns her attention to the window. “Thank you. I’ll take extra special care of them.” _   
  


Weeds cover the few remaining buds, muting their colors. Brielle doesn’t remember when they stopped going to the treehouse, only that there was no conversation and that it faded from memory the way learning how to speak does. She forgot all about her flowers and it prods at her aching heart. 

Harry never understood what she meant when she said she would take extra special care of the flowers. Planting them for her was one of the nicest things he did. He didn’t tell her that he liked her until she was eleven, but the gesture told her enough. 

Thunder resonates through her chest. Did she not keep her word on either end? Was it her fault that Harry drifted further and further away until he pushed her away for good?

Oceans swell in her eyes. “Gavril?”

Gavril’s desperate to notice anything else but the way her eyes shimmer in the light. She shouldn’t have to live with constant reminders of Harry everywhere she looks. Shouldn’t have to think she’s worth any less because the Prince is a pig. “Yes?”

Her eyes leave the flowerbeds and meet his. “Have I neglected him, too?”

Gavril closes his eyes and shakes his head. The bastard has gotten into her head so much that she blames herself for his mistakes. She deserves better. “It’s always about him, right?”

His tone isn’t anywhere near the kindness he’s always shown her. Brielle feels like he’s just punched her in the chest. It isn’t her fault she grew up in the castle with the Prince. It isn’t her fault that she had no one else to play with and wasn’t allowed to go beyond the walls alone because her father doesn’t trust people. “No, this is about me. Yes, I’ve lived my entire life around and with him, but this is about me, Gavril. He has no say in how I feel.”

“Then why have you neglected to see anyone else but him.”

She can hardly look at him. He gave her strawberries when Harry stopped giving her salted caramels. The walks, the conversations...the way he looks at her when she walks by him on his rounds. God, he’s been obvious and she hasn’t bothered to notice. 

Brielle shakes her head and bites down until there’s a hard pressure in her jaw that makes her bones ache. She doesn’t want to hurt him. Doesn’t understand why he’s chosen to do this now, when she’s trapped in a foreign head-space with a hurricane in her chest. Either of them can call her selfish, but it’s not about what they want. 

“You don’t get to do that.” Warm tears escape closed eyelids and flow down her cheeks. “You don’t get to do that, Gavril.”

Gavril takes a step closer, eyes alight with enough anger to fuel a forest fire. “Don’t get to do what, Elle? Love you? Last I heard, he no longer has that privilege.”

Brielle takes too many steps in the wrong direction, her back pressed against the cooling bricks of the castle. “Why are you doing this?”

He stares at her, the action drawing out for four heavy breaths. “You never gave me a chance.”

“You haven’t given me one, either! He’s been my entire life and that doesn’t go away overnight.”

Nothing she says registers the way it should. Gavril feels like she chose Harry on purpose with the intention to hurt him. She has yet to decide if she’s going to speak with Harry about the contents of the letter or not, and he’s acting as if she’s forgiven him for the simple fact that she loves him. 

Gavril steps forward again, pressing his hands to her cheeks as his lips collide with hers. Just one kiss. One kiss to make her see that he loves her just as much as she thinks she loves Harry. . One kiss and she’ll know. 

Brielle pushes him away, her hands pulsating with the residual pressure. “Get away from me!”

Her legs react on their own impulse, pushing her into a wind she’s created. Pain follows the moment she moves, but she refuses to let herself stop. Everything looks like a blur of colors on an ugly painting Harry’s mother once brought home from France made by someone named da Vinci. 

Brielle has no idea where she’s going. Three staff members she can’t see call after her as she runs into the woods at the edge of the castle. She ignores everything, allowing her legs to carry her to a home she’s hear about once in a letter.

Just as Harry said, there’s a house sitting in the middle of the field of pink flowers she stopped visiting years ago. All the strength she’s managed to extract from her body drains from her limbs, ale flowing from a barrel in a thick stream. 

Brielle falls to her knees. Her tears drench the small flowers in a bitter rain. “It’s my choice.”


	8. Eight*

In the early hours of the morning, Harry rises from his bed and draws a shirt from his armoire without bothering to look. The soft material feels like a second, better skin. It must be one that Brielle made, she’s always made far better shirts than anything made by unfamiliar tailors. 

One of the servants has opened the curtains and, despite the hour, the light burns his irises. Harry raises his hands to his eyes and rubs his palms against them until he sees reddish-pink blurs. He needs to sleep, but he finds himself lying in bed each night, staring at the flames in the hearth or the blank ceiling and moving his limbs about every which way until he passes out from exhaustion. Knowing Brielle is recovered brought a better sleep the previous night, but he won’t feel like himself until he knows she’s the picture of health. 

Breakfast is brought up and he picks at the plate, chewing with absent thoughts about what Brielle is doing this morning. She didn’t return to his chambers after she left and he hasn’t heard word of her since. Rather than calling another servant to return the plates to the kitchens, Harry takes it upon himself. With any luck, Brielle will be around, sewing in one of the corners or kneading dough. 

The palace echoes of a strange emptiness as he walks the corridors. His boots trailing sounds behind him like a second pair of feet. Guards offer him brief bows and nods of acknowledgement as he passes, but none offer up any semblance of conversation. In the kitchen, the servants are busy making preparations for dinner and supper later. Brielle isn’t anywhere in sight. Harry asks every staff member if they know of her whereabouts, despite the surprise in their demeanor upon seeing him where he is not meant to be present. No one has seen her since she met with her mother in the rose garden. 

He leaves the kitchens with a pace close to jogging, earning himself a company of three guards as he roams every spare inch of the grounds. Nothing is out of place and no one is acting strange, which makes him wonder if perhaps she’s resting somewhere where she won’t be bothered. After fifteen minutes of trailing him, the guards decide there is nothing to worry about and keep their distance, probably annoyed that they exerted so much effort for nothing.

Everyone he’s seen is either completing their rounds or busy with multiple tasks. The longer he walks, the strings of panic spreading throughout his body become tighter and more suffocating. Someone has to know something. 

He’s on his third lap when he sees Gavril. He’s stopped his rounds to stare at the abandoned treehouse, making up memories he’s never been privy to. Come to think of it, Harry doesn’t believe Gavril has ever been inside. Brielle invited him on plenty of occasions, but he never came up. He preferred to watch the guards practice or roam the grounds rather than play games or make up stories. 

Harry watches him for a moment, still trying to call up a memory that would place Gavril in the treehouse. Coming up with none but the scattered interactions between each of them and Brielle, he decides Gavril might be likely to know something about Brielle. 

“Gavril! A word?”

He doesn’t turn around the moment he’s addressed. Losing what little patience he has, Harry steps toward him with longer strides. “Where is she, Gavril?”

Gavril turns to face him, amused and with a laugh caught between his throat and his teeth. He doesn’t understand why Harry continues to try so hard to win Brielle back after everything that he’s done to her. He’s yet to realize that the things that befall him are by the slight of his own hand. “Far away from you.”

Regardless of the lingering guards watching his every move, Harry shoves Gavril into the castle wall hard enough that he can hear the plating of his armor shake from the impact. “Tell me where she is or so help me God.”

He’s never liked Gavril and Gavril has never liked him. Something about the man makes him furious. Now that they’re older, even the simple act of looking at him feels like a challenge. 

Gavril clenches his jaw, fighting against the temper he must restrain in front of a man he detests. The Prince can act a child all he pleases without reproach, but if any of the guards break turn they are likely to be stripped of whatever titles they may hold, or worse depending on the offense given. If Harry were anyone else, he’d beat him so bloody that no one would recognize him for the rest of his life. “I don’t know where she is.”

Not satisfied with the answer he’s given, Harry glares at Gavril with enough ire to burn through his skull if he held powers known only to false Gods and witches. Gavril blinks, unafraid. He can hit him all he wants, it’s nothing he hasn’t endured before either in training or in battle. 

Harry forgeoes thought and leads with his frustration, curling his fist and launching it toward Gavril’s jaw with less strength than he is capable of. Wrestling never held his interest, so he took to training with the guards, preferring to throw lances and challenge men of various builds to arm wrestling to enhance his strength. Richard has never believed him capable of being a man, and he’s always aimed to prove him wrong. 

Gavril groans and lifts his hand to the spot soon to bruise under his jaw. He’s impressed with the Prince’s strength, but will not commend him on it. 

Realizing what he’s done, Harry steps back, feeling a creeping pressure build in his chest. He’s never let his anger override anything and he doesn’t want to lose himself to rage like previous Kings have done. 

Gavril stares at him for a long moment, the hatred pooling in his features until it erupts from his hands, forcing Harry to stumble backward over his own feet. “I don’t know where she is!”

Harry’s lungs rise and deflate like swells as his mind returns to its normal, unadulterated state. “Why not? I’ve had multiple people tell me you were the last person with her. Surely she didn’t just vanish.” Multiple people is an exaggeration, but he doesn’t need to know.

“She ran off. I thought she went back to her mother.”

Harry drags his hands down his face and proceeds to look around as if he’ll catch her ghost. “Why did she run off?”

Gavril wouldn’t answer if it were an option. He doesn’t need to know the affection they share for the same woman. 

Harry begins to pace, the focus of his hands moving to his hair. There are a hundred reasons why she would leave and the most pressing one is himself. What if moving her from the medical wing to the Princess Suite pushed her too far? What if she detests his presence so much that she’s chosen to leave without notice so he can’t find her? “I need to know where she is.”

The only problem is that Gavril has no idea where she is or where she could be. He was too upset with himself last night and too angry with the hold Harry still has over her that he didn’t bother to pay attention to which direction she fled in. He wishes he has, but it’s better that he hadn’t. Harry would lose his mind further if he found out he’d kissed Brielle. “I don’t know where she is. She was angry with me and ran off.”

Harry stops pacing. He looks at Gavril the way his father looked at the last man he had executed for treason. “You didn’t stop her?”

Gavril resists the urge to shrug his shoulders. “No. She has a right to run away if that’s what she desires.” 

He watches the debate rage before Harry’s eyes before he resumes pacing. With all the etiquette classes he’s been forced to endure, none of them appear to be paying off well. Gavril thinks he looks more like a child throwing a tantrum than a Prince. 

Harry wants to break Gavril’s nose. His parent’s have yet to break the news about the growing conflict with Wayland to avoid hysteria. Not much has happened yet aside from a few riots and threats, but the entire situation is ridiculous. King Larin is enraged with the reconstruction taking place in Alaria because his citizens are deciding to migrate in favor of new and promising living quarters on the other side of the mountain. 

Really, his daughter is heartbroken that Harry chose to court someone else and her father is acting on her jealousy. Alaria and Wayland have never had issues before, which leaves the current tensions unprecedented and uncalled for. 

“It’s not safe for her to do so right now.” 

He has a better chance of finding her if he leaves now. Waiting will delay the process and rouse more questions to the impending list already being catapulted at him at council meetings and otherwise. Gavril falls into step beside him, his hand resting atop the pommel of his sword. He has no place to follow anyone while he is on rotation. “Remain at your post.”

Gavril continues to walk for a moment longer, clenching his jaw and staring at the side of Harry’s head as if the sheer force of his gaze will give the man a headache. It doesn’t matter how much he detests him, the Prince’s word is final unless the King says otherwise. Let him run after her and upset her further when she wishes to be left alone. 

Harry waits until Gavril is out of his sight to change his course. He’s looking for Caldwell. They aren’t what he would call friends yet, but he’s trying the best he can because he likes him and they’re around the same age. Sitting in rooms with older men or by himself makes the hours drag by in what feels like the span of years. And Caldwell has been around Alaria and the other twelve Kingdoms more than anyone else for training, battle, and diplomatic purposes. 

Sweat drips down his brow. The weather has been strange for the last week. He doesn’t understand how some days can blister and other days can freeze when they are separated by a mere few hours. Whatever the reason, the temperature is too hot for it to be winter. 

He finds Caldwell on the other side of the grounds, near the stables, finishing his lunch. Caldwell looks up with a hint of amusement as Harry rushes over with knotted hair and wrinkled garments. 

“Can I ask a favor of you?”

Harry is well aware that Caldwell can’t refuse, but a formal tone won’t help the little progress he’s made at being his friend—the progress he’s trying to make among all the staff, save Gavril. 

“If it involves being your fencing partner, I will respectfully decline.”

Harry laughs and believes he catches the faintest trace of a smile from Caldwell. Every time they’ve fenced, he manages to catch Caldwell off guard so much that it’s almost pointless to continue, but they have a good laugh about it. He’s better suited for a sword rather than a foil. “No, something a little more in your skill set. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your rounds have begun to increase during these last weeks. There’s a reason that I will discuss with you later, but right now I require an escort. Brielle is missing and I believe I know where she is.”

The expression he garners in response is a mixture of intrigue and concern. “We aren’t on the verge of war, are we?”

War is something Harry has yet to consider before. A few of the surrounding Kingdoms have warred with each other in the past, but no one has taken issue with Alaria for nearly a hundred years. If a war begins because of his choice of wife, he’s not sure he can handle the backlash. “No, just some jealous Princesses and their powerful fathers.” He wishes more than anything that he was joking.

Caldwell pushes his lower lips out as if contemplating something. There’s a humorous look in his eyes. “Perhaps it would be best if we locked you away in a tower.”

“I certainly deserve it.” All he does is begin one quarrel after another—sometimes by not doing anything at all. His parents argue whenever he says or does anything, he manages to always hurt Brielle is one way or another, and women are never pleased with him. Whoever invented the fairy tale about Princesses being locked in towers had it backwards: Princes would be far more efficient. 

Caldwell doesn’t get it. The Prince is a lot of things, and confusing is one of the few traits he’s managed to perfection. He spends too much time contemplating what Harry meant, and Harry’s figure is shrinking as he heads toward the forest that borders the castle walls. 

He jogs up to meet him before Harry leaves the grounds, although, he can’t understand how he plans to leave. Harry’s led them both to the thirty-foot wall and he’s staring at it as if the entire structure would fall at his will. “Is there something I’m missing? Last I checked, walking through the palace gates is a lot less strenuous than scaling the walls.”

Something that resembles a chuckle escapes Harry’s throat. He pulls away some of the greenery coating the walls and turns to face Caldwell with a mischievous smile that’s lost in memory. “Secret getaway. Brielle and I found it when we were younger. We used to sneak through here when I wanted to avoid lessons and when her fingers hurt from sewing. Or just because we wanted to.”

Caldwell’s contemplative silence makes him wonder if he’s said too much. When he doesn’t speak for a long duration of their walk, he knows he has. The only thing that makes it worse is the glances. Harry is used to people staring at him or being forced into uncomfortable situations, but not by friends. He wants to ask what he’s thinking, but decides against it.

“Might I ask what danger we’re facing? It’s unlike you to bring a guard to accompany you when you’re seeking something other than what is sought from you.”

The look he gives Caldwell is worried, and maybe even ashamed. “There are a few Kingdoms in the north that are unhappy with my decisions. In part because I did not choose a bride that suited them best, and in part because of the reconstruction of Alaria. More and more people are migrating here in search of a better life that they believe we can offer. And they aren’t wrong. I’ve heard some...questionable things about Moriana and Wayland that aren’t very promising.

There have been some recent attacks around the Kingdom while my family is out for errands. Someone tried to kidnap my mother the other day in the marketplace. Your rounds are being increased again as of last night.”

Caldwell scans the surrounding area for any signs of activity. He finds nothing except the soft trill of birds hopping about the trees. “If it is so dangerous for you and your family, then why are we risking your safety to search for Briellle, your Highness?”

Harry won’t meet his eyes, deciding to focus his attention on the sunlight poking through the trees and the shadows that follow. “Just Harry. And because I love her.”

Silence once again follows them. Harry doesn’t know why he’s been so forthright with Caldwell about his relationship with Brielle. The only other person aware of their complicated romance is Gavril, and he knows very well what would happen to him if he should ever tell another soul. He taps his fingers against his right leg. “Caldwell? Are we friends?”

A much louder bird chirps and bursts free from the leaves of a nearby tree. Harry flinches. Caldwell carries on in the same manner he was before: unphased and almost free of expression save the wary tilt to his lips. 

Caldwell isn’t certain of his answer. Harry’s been a lot friendlier toward him in the recent months, but he’s not someone who comes to mind when he’s asked who his friends are. Harry is more of an acquaintance that he has to tolerate and treat with careful measure lest he say something wrong. “We’re closer to friends than we were before. To be truthful, it’s a strange dynamic considering…”

Better than enemies. At least he’s made progress. That’s more than he can say for Gavril. He’s still not sure where their feud started, but it’s become clear that there is no resolution to be made to restore any sort of friendship. Everyone always tells him that he was made to be King, but it doesn’t feel that way. All but three of the royals that he’s met never make a mistake in speech or action. Not even once. He’s sure men like King Malcolm of Thide could threaten the lives of his entire family alongside the lives of the Kingdom, and still would sit on a throne with a pleasant smile.

The trees are thinning near their left, and Harry knows what he’s looking for is close. At any moment, the trees will open to a large clearing with a well constructed home that he helped build with his own hands. Building the house took almost a year with seasonal changes and designs he didn’t like as well as he thought he would. Every week he went to bed with such bursting anticipation to tell Brielle he was building her dream that he was sure he would burst well before the dawning of the next day. 

_ Brielle smiles as Harry lifts the covers until their chins are covered. This year brought a brutal winter and even the heat of the fireplace doesn’t suffice against the determined frost. His nose and cheeks are still burning from the air outside. Before she made the journey to his room, he headed outside the castle grounds to bring her some white flowers he saw blooming near the gates. _

_ Brielle’s feet feel like they’re made of ice and she believes they won’t warm up until the next day. The colors emanating from the fireplace don’t make Harry’s face look as nice as the moonlight makes it look on cloudless nights. Even if he wasn’t the Prince, he’s handsome enough to make even royalty blush. And she should know, she’s seen it firsthand when royal families from beyond the mountains come to visit for one reason or another.  _

_ She wonders what their lives would be like if Harry wasn’t the Prince of Alaria. If he could somehow escape the crown and marry her like he promised when they were younger.  _

_ Harry draws her closer and kisses her collarbone, his lips still warming up from his brief trip outside the castle gates. “What are you thinking about?” _

_ Brielle shifts under the heavy blankets until she’s facing him and the emerald eyes she’s come to adore more than her roses. “Fairy tales.” _

_ They’ve talked about her dreams for a future life a lot over the years, and his answer hasn’t changed, but she still knows the larger likelihood is that he’ll marry someone else because his parents and his heart won’t part with the crown. He loves her, but he’s dreamed of being King since he understood who he was. She refuses to be the one to take that away from him, no matter how much she loves him. Disobedience can only go so far, and they both know it.  _

_ His fingers link with hers. A gentle smile reserved only for her appears on his lips. “Fairy tales can happen. They happen every day.” _

_ She looks at him like he’s made of pure starlight. “And ours?” _

_ “Especially ours.” Another warmer kiss makes a home on her cheek. “Tell me about our fairy-tale ending again.” _

_ Brielle’s cheeks flush, but Harry doesn’t notice it much. The firelight makes her look like angel. “You still want to hear about that?” _

_ “Of course I do.” _

_ So many images run, unfiltered, through her mind. She doesn’t like to admit it, but she thinks about their future a lot, daydreaming about it when she’s sewing his mother’s dressing. Even if they don’t keep their promises, it’s still something pleasant to think about. “I want to be surrounded by those little pink flowers. They’re so vibrant even though they’re weeds. Oh! And I want to plant my own garden, full of bright flowers from all over the country! I don’t mind too much about the house as long as it has rooms for a baby or two would be wonderful. Can you imagine? Oh, you’d make the cutest babies! They’d have your green eyes and dimples and my strange in-between hair. _

_ “Our bedroom would have to be the nicest room in the house, aside from the sitting room. And your paintings would be everywhere! We’d be two happy people with cute little babies, in our home away from the world: our safe haven. Just you and me. No titles, just love.” _

_ Harry looks at her with a determination she’s never seen before. She’s everything he wants and he refuses to lose her for any reason. “We’ll have all of that and anything else you could ever want. Just us and just love for the rest of our lives.” _

Time has taken him longer than he anticipated to make their conversations a touchable reality, but he’s done it. Everything except the wedding. That he managed to screw up quicker than it takes the guards to venture to the whorehouse after their shifts.

Caldwell adjusts the position of his sword. “Did you mean what you said?”

Harry may be an imbecile when it comes to love, but he understands what he’s being asked under the surface level. While it’s true other Princes have a reputation for being loose on their promises and bedding multiple women only to satiate a momentary desire, he’s not like that. Or he didn’t intend to be. He meant everything he promised Brielle when they were younger and still means to honor his word. “Would I risk my life for her otherwise?”

His tone comes across a lot less kind than he intended. He hopes Caldwell won’t count it against him. “My apologies. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, yet.”

“With a father like yours, I’m not expecting very much.”

Harry chuckles, twisting his fingers behind his back. “Yes, he’s not the greatest. Outside of formalities, that is. It’s a wonder I try to communicate willingly at all.” All Richard ever does is grumble or fall into a fit of shouting and foul language when something doesn’t go the way he planned. Other than brief exchanges, Harry hasn’t heard more than a few forced conversational words from his father. 

He refrains himself from saying anything more. When he was younger, he was always afraid to speak to anyone other than Brielle and her family. They made him feel like he belonged. Caldwell and most of Alaria would be shocked if they ever found out his father never scripts his own speeches. Harry’s mother does it all, sitting beside her husband with a smile as he takes credit for her finesse with words and relationships surrounding the Kingdom.

Small pink flowers appear beneath their feet. Harry’s heart feels like it’s swelling with a hurricane. There’s no guarantee that Brielle is inside, yet there is so much hope welling inside him that he feels like he might collapse from anticipation. He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped walking until he sees Caldwell’s back in front of him. Embarrassed and ashamed, he follows with a desperate hope that Brielle both is and isn’t inside. 

The curtains inside are all drawn in the same way he left them a week prior. He’s been coming to visit the lifeless home twice a week since it’s completion. He likes to sit inside and envision their lives away from the throne from time to time, and to make sure everything inside is proper instead of coated with dust. Although, the last few times he’s come, he’s come to wallow in self-pity, as it’s hard to hide in a castle where there are eyes everywhere. 

Harry can’t make himself open the door. Caldwell doesn’t know the entire story. He takes one look at Harry’s expression and knows that he will not budge until someone else takes the first step. Love has made a strange being out of him, one that cannot be reconstructed from fragments upon shattering. Caldwell sighs, steps forward, and opens the door.

The string of memories that were holding Harry back vanish and he’s inside the house in what feels like a second. Caldwell does not follow, keeping his distance and surveying the surrounding area. 

Brielle is just past the entryway, sniffling on the couch. Her face and eyes are bright red. She’s been crying all night, alone, and in a house she thought only existed in her fantasies. As soon as the door opened, she knew it was Harry. He has a bad habit of not leaving her to her devices, particularly when she’s upset. Even so, she can’t seem to make herself angry. He’s here and he’s here for her. Right now, that’s all she wants: his unadulterated attention. 

Her legs bring her to him before she has time to reevaluate. The castle has been her home since she was born, yet, nowhere feels closer to home than Harry does. With his arms around her, she feels invulnerable. She feels like a Queen.

Harry holds her the way an anchor holds a ship in place, firm and unmoving. He’s ashamed of letting her go and terrified that she won’t come back to him if he allows his arms to loosen their hold. “Elle...thank God you’re all right.”

She’s not all right. Everything that’s happened started with him. It doesn’t matter how much she loves him: he doesn’t have the right to play with her feelings. She is not a toy. Prince or not, this is her decision. 

Brielle pulls away as if he’s burned her. Harry looks as confused and heartbroken as she feels. 

She shakes her head and meets his eyes. “You don’t get to do that, either.”

Harry’s expression remains unchanged, his arms loosen their grip, fingertips sliding down her arm and holding fast to her wrists. “Do what? Brielle I…”

Tears stream down her cheeks. “You don’t get to play with my heart and confuse me because you’re unsure of what you want. You may be the Prince, but it doesn’t mean you can do anything you please without consequence. You broke my heart because you wanted to, and you can’t take it back because you want to. I am so angry with you that I can’t even look at those little flowers anymore because they feel poisoned. And this...this house...my dreams...they all feel poisoned. That’s your fault.

And Gavril, my God! You two are confusing me so much that my heart hurts just being around you! I have a choice, too.” She pulls her hand back to herself so fast that Harry can’t react. “I have a choice.”

Each man is stunned. No one has ever spoken to the Prince in such a manner and Caldwell has no idea how Harry will react. 

No amount of grooming could save Harry from the wave of sadness that washes over his heart. He never meant to make her feel like she didn’t have a choice. He’s failed her heart and he’s failed his own in the process.

Harry’s eyes well with tears that only a select few people have seen including Brielle. “You’re right.”

He wasn’t supposed to say that. 

Brielle’s anger dims, but she holds firm to her decision. Harry was raised for this. She doesn’t know him as much as she believed she did. With all that she’s learned, there is a large chance that he’s been toying with her this entire time. “You and Gavril need to allow me space. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my mind and my heart. That’s all I ask. Just time and space to settle the war inside my head and my chest.”

Caldwell returns to feigning interest in the world outside the house. This conversation isn’t meant for his ears. He’d rather be back on rotation.

Harry feels like he’s drowning. This time, he might not make it back to shore.


	9. Nine*

Nine

 

Midnight brings the sound of sobs. June just got Brielle back, but the sadness behind her eyes has resided there for months. She grabs the lantern by her bedside and struggles to light it by the hearth, her mind still half-frozen with sleep. Four tries before the flame ignites.

 

Brielle is in her room, surrounded by darkness and curled into a ball facing the wall. Seeing the world as it is makes her want to leave Alaria even more. She’s beginning to understand why children prefer to shroud themselves in fairy tales: they cloud out reality and leave behind a blissful film that can only be erased by the owner of the belief. Harry tricked her into removing her veil and she can’t bring it back now.

 

Orange light fills the small space as someone enters the room. She’s sure it isn’t her father because he sleeps like the dead. He wouldn’t hear it if the entire castle was under cannonfire. And, as much as she wishes her mother slept in a similar manner, she’s relieved to have someone to talk to outside of her mind. 

 

June sets the lantern on the dresser and takes a seat at the edge of her bed. Brielle wipes her eyes and sits upright, her back against the wall. “Hi, mum.”

 

June takes her hand and smiles the way only mothers can. “Hi, sweetheart.”

 

Brielle hasn’t told her mother about her relationship with Harry. She’s hinted at it on occasion though, as she’s terrible at hiding her emotions while in her own space away from the rest of the castle. 

 

More tears come without warning. “I don’t know what to do, mum.”

 

“About Harry?”

 

She nods and leans into her mother’s arms, longing for the comfort of another human being over that of her pillow. “I know I’m not meant to be with him, but I can’t help it. I can’t help it.”

 

June smooths Brielle’s hair. She feels like she’s thirteen again, trying to sort out her feelings for a boy who happened to be the Prince. 

 

_ Harry is training with the guards and his instructor today. Something about needing to know battle tactics and how to defend himself if his life is challenged. His hair is longer than he’s allowed to have it, clinging around his ears and his forehead in loose, sweat coated waves.  _

_ She’s supposed to be hanging the linens, not watching Harry run through lessons. The shirt he’s wearing is loose and moves like water with his body. How he can move so fast against such bigger men is astounding.  _

 

_ Someone calls for a break and Harry wipes the sweat from his forehead. Brielle’s been staring at him for too long. He turns full circle, and catches her eyes. A lopsided grin sparks sunbursts in her chest. She waves, her cheeks filling with warmth the longer he looks at her. She knows she shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t let him have so much power over her. He’s forbidden, even if he does return her affections.  _

 

_ Harry waves and she disappears behind the linens she’s already hung, trying to catch the breath she didn’t know she lost. _

 

June sighs, the sound full of warmth, not hollow like the sighs Brielle’s made in the last few weeks. “I know. Love changes us all in some way or another. Care to talk about it?”

 

The words spill from Brielle’s mouth, free-formed with minds of their own. They start from the first moment she realized she loved Harry and take all of three hours before they get to the moment she told him to leave her be. “...and the worst part is that I still love him, mum. Despite everything he’s done, I still love him.”

 

June’s hand brush Brielle’s hair from her eyes. She’s always had a tendency to hide her face when she’s upset. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Elle. Healing takes time. Take all the time you need.”

 

She doesn’t think time will ever be enough. Harry’s initials are carved over every inch of her heart and burned into the essence of her soul. The two sit in silence, Brielle twisting her fingers in her lap and June debating asking more. What could be hours pass before June stands from the bed, kisses Brielle’s cheek, and exits the room. 

 

Sleep does not take away the pain. Brielle’s dreams were pleasant, draped in memories and smiles, but the pain in her chest continues to radiate through her body like poison. The Queen has called on her for a number of errands varying from sewing to scrubbing the kitchen floors. Harry has yet to show his face. 

 

Whatever her feelings are, she should be glad he’s keeping his word. The child in love with the carefree Prince still wishes that persistent little boy would heed only half her words and trail after her until she’s changed her mind. 

 

She walks toward the market with slow steps, her eyes wanting to linger in every corner. Searching for a bright speck of fabric and the faint hint of green eyes. None appear.

 

A few familiar faces walk by and offer her small waves, asking her how she’s doing and leaving conversation short. There aren’t too many people out today. Market days are usually swarming with people and today only a small trickle visit the stands. Brielle contemplates the idea of a festival held somewhere that she wasn’t aware of. It is getting closer to the winter solstice. Everyone is probably putting together dresses and preparing their homes for the festival Harry’s thrown since he was fifteen years old.

 

The only thing Harry doesn’t provide for the event itself is clothing. She asked him why and he told her he doesn’t give them clothing because he likes to let them celebrate in their own way. But, he does provide the fabrics and decorations at his own expense. Back then, he had a better understanding that not everyone is used to living in luxury.

 

Richard hasn’t ever agreed with the way Harry delegates his wealth. He gripes and lectures him on better things worth having, never once acknowledging the benefits the festivals bring to the Kingdom. Brielle believes the only reason he hasn’t been cut off is because he keeps people happy. Once the festivities are over, the citizens offer more in taxes. They like that Harry takes care of them where there King has grown too lazy to care.

 

Laughter bounces off the nearby houses as two little girls run by with bright blue and red fabric and what looks like salted-caramels in their hands. Brielle searches the square, roaming over every face and every building. He isn’t there. She bites her cheek, diverting her attention to the jewler on her right. 

 

Every year since she was six, her parents have given her a small sum of their wages to buy something she can call her own. She’s never spent it. All she has was meant for a wedding dress to surprise Harry the way he always manages to surprise her. Now that he’s ruined that plan, she wants to surprise her mother and say thank you. She doesn’t know how to explain what for if she’s asked, but her mother will understand. 

 

Brielle’s fingers stop on a beautiful silver necklace that winds and bends like rivers and has a white moonstone In the center. Too simple for a Queen; perfect for a Queen of a different castle. “How much?”

 

The merchant watches her with an expression she can’t place. He either doesn’t believe she can afford such a nice necklace or he knows she might be able to with the help of the Prince. “Three crowns.”

She frowns, removing her fingers from the delicate metalwork. At most, she has two crowns. Bargaining has never been her strongest attribute, and the piece is nice enough to fetch such a price so she won’t attempt to. A forced smile replaces her frown. “Thank you.”

 

Anne is expecting her to return to the castle soon. With any luck, she’ll find something just as nice closer to the center of the market. A lot of families that sell there make unique crafts and sell them for reasonable prices. Harry bought her a lovely bracelet with little charms made from sea glass from a woman there once. It got caught on his headboard the night she almost called him hers and it broke apart. Now it sits in the box he gave her alongside the engagement ring. 

 

Brielle manages to take a few steps when the whispers start. Muffled words and a name she could never miss. Harry.

 

Children rush around the corners of buildings while their parents follow at much slower paces. If he meant to hide, he chose the wrong place. Within seconds, he’s surrounded by a sea of people that have materialized out of thin air. 

 

Harry looks like he’s been in the sun for too long, and he feels like it, too. A light shade of red covers his face, bringing to light a few freckles that only come out after spending hours outdoors, training or roaming the nearby woods. His hair falls in slight curls toward his forehead, making the women closest to him swoon, though he doesn’t understand why. 

 

He shakes hands and passes around sweets before he manages to make it to where Brielle is standing. She’s watched him the entire time, eyes bluer than the sky. The anchor in her chest rises despite her will to keep it tethered in the depths. Sunlight looks good on him. Too good for it to be fair. 

 

Brielle raises her chin and looks him dead in the eyes. “I see you’re still stubborn.”

 

Harry does the same, admiring the snowflake inspired wind chimes in the window behind her dressed in silver and gold. He knows better. Knows he should make eye contact even when he’s embarrassed, but it’s a bad habit he hasn’t mastered yet. “Me? Never.”

 

She laughs, the sound half as bright as it used to be. “I guess some things don’t change.”

 

The way his lips pull into themselves and draw the sun from his eyes threatens to break her again. “A lot of things don’t.”

 

Brielle notices the four guards at his side. Her eyebrows quirk as she waits for an explanation. After spending so much time debating with herself, she’s learned that the more she talks to him, the more her feelings break through the mountain she’s trying to build around her heart. 

 

Harry hesitates, his eyes darting between the people and his guards. “I can’t explain right now. But, if you would like to speak with me later, I’ll tell you everything.”

 

She doesn’t manage a response before he adds more. “And I’ll respect your wishes until you tell me otherwise. You have my word.”

 

_ Harry runs through hallways as if he’s aiming to be the fastest runner in the world. A few guards have given him strange looks, but he’s the Prince and no questions follow his footsteps. He can’t find Brielle anywhere.  _

 

_ Mae is in the kitchen preparing lunch when he breezes into the room and almost crashes into the spice rack. She rushes over to him as he’s trying to catch his breath. “What’s wrong? Is there a fire?” _

 

_ He shakes his head so fast he’s on the verge of making himself sick. “N-no...no fine.” _

 

_ Relief releases her features from their twisted concern. “Oh, thank heavens! What’s got you so riled up?” _

 

_ She’s one of the safest people to tell since she’s raised him more than anyone else, but he can’t risk it. “I can’t find Brielle. Really need to talk to her. Do you know where she is?” _

 

_ Mae wants to laugh. He’s never concerned so much with anything else unless it has to do with that sweet little girl. “Where she always is. The garden.” _

 

_ “Thank you,” sounds more like “Tank ou” as he races off toward the garden. He’ll have to apologize later. _

 

_ Brielle is humming to herself as she prunes the growing bushels. If this were any other day, he’d stand where he is and stare for a moment. But it’s not and he can’t. There’s no time for that. He needs to talk to her now or he might never get the chance to stare at her again.  _

 

_ “Elle!” _

 

_ She looks up from the roses wearing a smile that only encourages him to run to her with a much faster pace.  _

 

_ Harry knocks her over. Brielle is sure he’s bruised her lungs. She groans and coughs up a laugh. “Nice to see you, too.” _

 

_ His hands are too warm as he helps her to her feet. “I need to talk to you.” _

 

_ Brielle’s worried, but she knows better than to react without knowing what he has to say. The last time she did that he got mad and wouldn’t talk to her for an entire day. He’s still holding her hand. “All right. Where do you want to go?” _

 

_ Everyone in the courtyard is pretending not to watch them like they always do. They’re listening without being obvious. Harry’s mother never leaves him to his own devices if she can help it and, with him acting so out of character, everyone is on edge. Brielle squeezes his hand. “Treehouse?” _

 

_ “Treehouse.” _

 

_ They leave the garden together. Harry lets go of her hand. She knows he’s done it to protect her from the consequences of their relationship. She wishes he wouldn’t, it hurts her more than she wants to admit.  _

 

_ As soon as they’re inside the treehouse, tucked away from the world. Harry kisses her like he’s never kissed her before. He kisses her like she’s going to evaporate and he has to capture what’s there before she’s gone.  _

 

_ Brielle’s fingers leave small indents on his arms, too content to remove themselves from the moment. He’s forgotten that they both have to breathe. She feels his absence like a stone in her stomach the moment he pulls away. “What’s going on, Harry?” _

 

_ She watches his soft hands pull at the ends of his hair as he paces the small room. “They know.” _

 

_ “Who knows?” _

 

_ Harry’s seconds away from tears. They’ll take her away and he won’t have anyone. He won’t be able to send letters or see her when he pleases. What if he stops loving her? What if she stops loving him? “My parents, Elle. My parents know.” _

 

_ Brielle searches his eyes and finds only confusion. “Are you sure? What happened?” _

 

_ “I was walking past the Throne Room and heard them talking. I don’t listen any other day, but I did today. They said your name and I couldn’t leave. They were talking about how much time I spend with you and how it will ruin my marriage before it even happens. Then I ran away and came to find you.” _

 

_ She can’t breathe. They’ll keep her away from him for the rest of her life and there’s nothing she can do about it. She’ll miss making his shirts and seeing his smile. More than anything, she’ll miss his hand in hers. And it’s all her fault. She’s too giddy and too girly to keep anything as secret as she should. Tears feel like acid on her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” _

 

_ Harry stops pacing. “What?” _

 

_ “I’m sorry that I fell in love with you. If I could hide it better...they wouldn’t know. Its my fault.” _

 

_ If she’d just left him alone when they were younger like so many of the staff warned her to, neither of them would feel like this like now. Like the fractured rocks on mountains and shorelines.  _

 

_ An apology is on her lips. Harry kisses it away before a word forms, his hands on her cheeks. “It’s not your fault.” _

 

_ She shakes her head. The corners of Harry’s lips lift at a slight angle. “It’s mine. The other day, my mother asked me to meet with Princesses to see if I found one I might like to marry. I told her I already knew the woman I want to marry.” _

 

_ Brielle laughs and wipes her eyes. She doesn’t know the right thing to say. “You told her you want to marry me?” _

 

_ Harry takes her hand, filling the space between her fingers with his own. “I did. I didn’t say your name, but I’m sure she knows from what she said earlier.” _

 

_ “Will you still come for me?” _

 

_ The look in his eyes tells her the answer long before he confirms it. “I will always come for you.” _

 

Brielle meets Harry in the treehouse at midnight. He’s sitting in the dark with the curtain pulled to the side. The moonlight is ethereal, but he avoids it like they used to avoid darkness when they were kids. He’s got his fingers in his mouth, biting at nails that were hardly there to begin with.

 

She clears her throat. Harry gets up so fast he’s inches away from smacking his head on the roof. “You came.”

 

She wants to smile and smack him at the same time. “You asked me to. And I want to know why you suddenly need a four guard escort into the marketplace.”

 

All she has to do is keep him at a distance from her heart. If she doesn’t let him in, he can’t change her mind.

 

Harry frowns and bites his cheek. He’ll say something that will only push her away if he doesn’t remind herself of where they stand with one another. “Do you remember all that time I spent complaining about the Proposal Week?”

 

Brielle remembers every moment of his complaints. The man complained so much she thought he might relinquish his throne right then and there. Of course, he told her all of his misfortunes in his lavish room, under plush sheets and in a bed that felt like a cloud. The complaints weren’t all bad. What she’s always remembered in the most detail is what he said at the end.

 

_ “The worst part is that they’re going to make me do all of it, even though I’m going to choose you. I wouldn’t mind doing all of it for you.” _

 

“I remember. What does that have to do with your guards.”

 

“Moriana and Wayland are...challenging the Peace Regulations. They’re unhappy that I’ve chosen Kinsley. And, to add fuel to that fire, their citizens are coming here because of the renovations. There are also whispers that I’m the Golden King.”

 

The myth of a Golden King has been around for over four-hundred years. When the chosen King comes, he’s supposed to merge the twelve Kingdoms and create a new order that foregoes the old Kingdom laws. 

 

While she’s believed in the rumors in the past, he’s shattered her view of everything she doesn’t know to be true. Then again, she’s heard a lot about the other eleven Kings and Princes, and none of them treat their Kingdoms with as much Kindness as Harry does in Alaria. “They think you’re the Golden King? That’s a myth...there hasn’t been a Golden King in four centuries.”

Harry pinches his lips between his thumb and index finger. “I know.”

 

“Are we on the verge of war?” Brielle waits for an answer that doesn’t come. “Harry?”

 

He wants to tell her no. To tell her war is the farthest thing possible. But he can’t lie to her. “I don’t know. My father is handling all relations. He hasn’t told me much.”

 

Brielle’s fingers pull at a loose thread near her wrist. “Are we safe?”

 

“I don’t know. That’s why I followed you: to make sure you were safe.”

 

She closes her eyes. He means everything to her, but Alaria has to mean more. “You don’t have to take care of me anymore.” Brielle kisses his cheek and lets her lips linger for a moment too long. “Take care of your Kingdom.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Ten

The days have never felt longer. All he wants to do is ask if she's alright, but it will only further the space between them. If there's one thing Harry hates, it's leaving Brielle alone. Sometimes she doesn't like that part of him either. He wishes this weird space they're in right now was solvable like it was when they were younger.

_Brielle told him to stay away hours ago. Harry's tried his best, but he can't keep to himself for much longer. He put himself in this situation and he needs to fix it._

_The stars are brighter than ever as he walks the grounds to find her. She only likes to leave the grounds in the morning. Part of the darkness still bothers her and he can't go with her at night. He still thinks his parents are only enforcing his curfew because they think he's looking for trouble in the city. The only trouble he's interested in is Brielle._

_She's sitting under the oak tree, her feet bare and speckled with dirt and broken pieces of leaves. The moonlight makes her skin appear softer than ever. Her nightgown is familiar in its near shapelessness, but he's never seen it under this light before and it gives him pause._

_The silvery light penetrates the thin fabric, and although she is surrounded by shadow, her skin is clear as day. Harry knows he should look away and spare her modesty, but his feet are rooted in the earth. His chest aches with longing. She's one of the few things he's not permitted to have, but that doesn't make him want her any less._

_Brielle knows he's there. She's always been able to pay attention to the small details. He's never been able to walk quietly and his feet gave him away long before his breathing did._

_"If you have something to say, might as well just say it."_

_Harry's thankful she hasn't tried to face him like everyone else does. He's certain his cheeks match the hue of the roses. Still, the words he wants to say are lost on his tongue._

_"I'm still upset with you. But I think I understand where you're coming from."_

_There's too much space, still. Harry nearly trips over a few protruding roots on his way to sit beside her. Brielle tries to cover her laugh with a cough. He laughs at himself and pokes her side. "What's so funny?"_

_"You. You're this...weird blend between normal and Prince. Everyone is always instructing you on how to act, and yet, you still manage to do the opposite."_

_His fingers trace circles in the dirt, a smile crests his lips. "I'm glad someone enjoys my shortcomings."_

_Brielle's fingers are between his in the span of a breath. Her skin warm, like the embers that reside long after the fire has gone. "They're not shortcomings. Just another part of being human."_

_She rests her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. Crying has only made her feel the fatigue on a stronger level. Harry doesn't understand why she's no longer angry, why she said that she understands._

_"Why aren't you upset anymore?"_

_Brielle laughs and familiar vibrations roll through his chest. "I'm still upset. But I know why you said what you did. You've never had a choice in the matter, and that would be the one time you had a choice. I'm not upset that you would chose me over your wife, I'm upset at the thought of hurting someone else because I'm so in love with you that I cannot bear the thought of having to part with you. And that you're so in love with me that you haven't considered how it would hurt someone else._

_"I know that your marriage is technically arranged and that it never has much to do with love, but you're so easy to fall in love with. It would only be a matter of time before she started to love the man that you are. I don't like the idea of you becoming someone else. Someone other than the boy with green eyes and a golden heartbeat."_

_Harry's thumb and index finger lift her chin. Her blue eyes are a sea of calm and a tidal wave of sadness. She is his anchor._

_"No matter who I am, or what happens, you will always hold my heart."_

_Her nose is cold as it brushes his own. Their lips meet like harmonies as sweet and gentle as a lullaby._

Harry closes his eyes and runs his fingers over his lips. A moment so far in the past has never been so close to the present. He can still feel the chill of her nose and the slight tickle of her hair on his shoulder.

The Queen clears her throat and looks at him as if he's just done something strange. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine."

Eyes slightly lighter than his own watch him carefully. His gaze doesn't waver. Satisfied with his answer she starts the meeting he's been called to attend. Harry still thinks it's strange that she calls them meetings when it's just the three of them and usually his father just scolds him for stepping out of line one way or another.

"Since tensions between us and the Northern Kingdoms have escalated, we're going to announce your engagement to Princess Nyx at the week's end."

If he'd been drinking he would have fallen over. Harry's eyes practically pop out of his skull, his cheek nearly punctured from the harsh impact of his teeth. Nyx is one of the worst people he's ever met. All she cares about is her crown and all the privileges she's granted as Princess of Wayland. Power has corrupted her heart and he wants nothing to do with her.

"No. Absolutely not."

His father looks amused. His mother doesn't flinch.

"This isn't something you're at liberty to decide anymore. We will not have a war on our hands because of your desire to remain unwed."

The pressure in his jaw makes it feel like his teeth might shatter. "I will not wed a tyrant's daughter. I already made my choice. Remaining unwed has nothing to do with it."

"Who are you choosing to marry? And how would that marriage soothe the growing tension more than the marriage that will eradicate it entirely?"

Something tells him that his breathing is too loud. The refinement he's supposed to have is fleeting faster than the air in his lungs.

_Brielle. I want to marry Brielle._

"Kinsley. I choose Kinsley. She can sway with her kindness, and her affinity for words will certainly ease tensions. Together we can end this before it sprouts a nastier head. And we can do this without succumbing to a tyrant to keep Alaria safe."

The look on his father's face tells him that this isn't the best thing he could have said. His mother is still looking at the possibilities. She's always been kinder than his father, but if she forces him to marry Nyx he's not sure he can reconcile with her. He's beginning to understand how Brielle feels.

"Alright. The announcement will be at the end of the week. Prince or not, you will not push this back any longer."

Harry bows curtly and leaves without another word. He's running out of time and he can't even talk to Brielle because he's nearly ruined everything between them for good.

She passes him in the hall just before his room. Her eyes meet his momentarily, but his linger long after she's gone. In all the time that he's known her, he's never seen her so...strong. Brielle has always amazed him, but this time is different. This time she's opening his eyes instead of just captivating him. This time she's making him listen.

_Brielle's hair is splayed out behind her like a dark wave. Her fingers knotted with his as they watch the clouds shift in the sky. "Will you come to dinner with me tonight? Mother's making me meet royals from all over and I would rather not go alone."_

_The smile on her face drains, her lips slightly pouting. "I can't."_

_Harry squeezes her fingers and turns his head. Her oceanic eyes don't meet his. "Of course you can. I'm the Prince and if I want you there, there's not much mother can do about it."_

_She's silent for so long that he can almost hear her heartbeat. There's a bright shine to her eyes, but it isn't from the sunlight. "She can send me away."_

_Arrogant and stubborn, Harry sticks to his original stance. "She won't. I won't let her."_

_Brielle pulls her hand away from his and rises from the grass, her eyes shut in vices to hold in the flood threatening to break free. "You can't promise that."_

_Harry hides his nose in the space between Brielle's shoulder and neck. She still smells of roses. "Will you stay with me?"_

_Brielle struggles to keep every difference between them in her head and away from her speech. She's been here enough to know that he isn't talking about staying for the night. "Harry, we've discussed this before."_

_He sighs, his breath hot against her neck. "I can make it possible. No one would know."_

_She shifts uncomfortably, her feet knocking his at the edge of the bed. Harry's arms are slow in their release of pressure around her waist._

_"Is it me?"_

_Brielle returns his sigh. Her feet bump his again as she rolls on her side. The mattress hardly dips. Harry's hands return to his side of the mattress._

_"It's me."_

_Brielle's eyes watch the flickering candlelight with a mixture of adoration and heartache._

_Harry's brought a new warmth to the treehouse. The candles are lovely, but what causes the pull and odd restraint in her chest are the paintings he's lined the walls with. He's always had a talent for painting, but she never thought she would be his muse. They're breathtaking. The only problem is that he's given her_ _his_ _grace instead of painting her as she is. Brielle feels like he's put a crown atop her head. A crown that she'll never have and doesn't want._

_There's a makeshift bed strewn across the center of the wooden flooring. Pristine blankets and overly stuffed pillows create a cloud of white that almost hurts her eyes._

_Harry stands at the back of the right wall, his alluring, boyish smile plastered on his lips. Brielle wipes her eyes, "What's all this for?"_

_The way he shrugs his shoulders reminds her of the expression he used to wear every time she caught him staring._

_"We've been together for a while and I thought it would be nice. We don't have to hide here and...and I want you to know how much you mean to me."_

_Brielle avoids stepping on the cloud as much as she can as she crosses the space to meet him. She trips on a dense pillow and falls into the blankets with a huff that's followed by a laugh._

_Harry follows her dramatically, his laughter a melody to her ears. Barely a heartbeat passes before their fingers are merging seamlessly._

_The winter air sneaks in through the cracks of the wood and filters through the warmth of the candles. Brielle is less than a heartbeat away from him as he lifts the blanket over them. She kisses his cheek and allows her lips to linger for a moment too long._

_"Thank you. You didn't have to do all this for me."_

_"I certainly did. Only the best for my Princess."_

A million memories consume him. A thousand times he's smacked senseless with his own ignorance. Harry feels like he's let himself drown. The world blurs as regret makes its way to his eyes. His lungs have collapsed and trapped his heart under their weight.

Two guards down the hall are trying their hardest to remain at their posts like statues and avoid looking at the distraught Prince.

Harry turns abruptly, only to be met with an empty hallway. Brielle can't be far. The thud of his boots is magnified by his frantic pace. He can't tell if he's listening to his heartbeat or his shoes.

"Brielle!"

She's in front of him before he can stop his feet. Laundry covers the hall. Brielle's blue eyes are full of nothing but surprise, her palms flat against his chest. The only thing running through her mind is the first time he kissed her and how they both fell into the rose bush.

The space between them is so small that he can feel her breath and catch the delicate flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks. Everything has stopped and he wants to just spin the world back a few years and redo all the things he did wrong.

Brielle's face is a gentle pink as she clears her throat. "Harry...are you alright?"

He shakes his head and helps her to her feet. Brielle is too surprised to worry about the laundry.

Tears fall from his emerald eyes the moment her hand leaves his. "I know I'm breaking my promise to allow you your space, but I need you to know that I'm sorry. I'm so...so sorry, Elle."

Brielle looks at him as if he's a ghost. "For not giving me space?"

None of this makes sense. He's kept his word and given her the time and space she wanted for a few weeks. And he's never this...open when there's a chance that someone can see them.

For the first time in years, he looks desolate and utterly lost. "No. Yes. Yes, for that and everything else." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and attempts a smile that doesn't quite make it to his lips. "I know that they're just words and that...that they won't fix anything, but I need you to know that I'm  _so_  unbelievably sorry."

He hides his face and starts picking up the scattered clothing. Brielle has no idea how to react. He's changed so much that she didn't expect an apology like that from him. She wasn't expecting an apology at all. Especially not one in the middle of the hall.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

Something about the look in his eyes bothers her, but now isn't the time to upset him further. Whatever it is, she's sure it will come out eventually.

Brielle smiles as he hands her the laundry she dropped when he ran into her. "For everything."

And despite all he's done, she means it. If she hadn't fallen in love with him, there's an entire world she would never have witnessed. He's shown her more than she ever thought possible about other people and about herself and she doesn't regret a single part of loving him.

Harry disappears with a horrible posture and red eyes. Brielle watches him walk around the corner long after he's gone. Something happened and she still wants to be there for him. To be his confidant when he feels like the world is against him. When he feels like he isn't good enough.

The day stretches for an eternity. Brielle fights the urge to ignore her duties at every turn in the long hallways. Even the Queen seems off. She smiles less and asks for less before allowing her to retire early and enjoy her evening.

Under the dim lighting, her fingers shake. She hasn't seen much of Harry for weeks and she didn't expect her heart to fall readily back into the routine of loving a man she can never have. Since tensions have escalated with other Kingdoms, guards have been patrolling the halls as if every royal in the world resides within the castle.

Four guards stand in front of his bedchamber. She didn't think this through. Without a direct invitation, they'll never let her speak to him.

Brielle bites her cheek, her head held high as she approaches his door. A guard on the left looks familiar, but she can't recall his name. He was the one with Harry when he found her in their house that won't ever be lived in.

He remembers her and raises an eyebrow once she reaches their barrier. Brielle presses her hands to her sides and hopes they don't notice how much they're trembling. She doesn't really know why she's come to see him in the first place, everything just feels tangled.

A guard to her right eyes her suspiciously. "The Prince is not accepting visitors at this time."

Brielle tries to remember what Harry taught her about talking with authority. "I need to speak with him. The Queen sent me."

Caldwell is hiding a smile.

"The Queen sent you? At this hour?"

She nods with all the confidence she can muster. "Yes."

Four men look at each other in silent debate. Caldwell clears his throat and is kind enough to help solidify her lie. "She is the Queen's personal maid. What reason could she possibly have for lying?"

No one can read minds, but she hopes he sees enough in her eyes to know that she is grateful.

The guard that questioned her looks skeptical as his knuckles tap the hardwood. "Prince Harry?"

It's always been hard to hear through his door. Brielle is surprised to hear him mumble an audible response.

"What is it?"

"There's a maid here that says the Queen sent her to speak with you?"

Something shatters and the door opens as if blown open by a strong wind. Dressed in only his undergarments, Harry stands in the open space, a surprised smile threatening to break through his standard royal expression of boredom.

His gaze doesn't leave her, "Please, come in." All three guards, excluding Caldwell, watch the two of them with eyes the size of the moon. "Please do me a favor, any time she comes to my door, let her in and please, do not question her or myself on these occasions."

Brielle is still biting her cheek when he shuts the door and seals them inside, away from prying eyes.

"If you bite your cheek much longer, you're going to give yourself a nasty sore. I know how much you hate those."

He sounds like he's been crying since he knocked her over this afternoon.

Brielle sighs and sits at the foot of his bed. Strange how foreign a familiar room feels after only a few months. "Are you alright?"

Harry sits beside her and covers his face with his hands. "No. 'm not."

She leans her shoulder against his, her fingers hesitant in the space between them. "You can tell me if you want."

"You won't like me anymore."

Brielle can hardly understand him through his hands. As much pain as he's caused her, she doesn't want him to be in pain. She pulls his hands from his face and captures his fingers with her own. "Your normal is showing."

She smiles and the left corner of his lips twitches in response. Even when he wants to disappear, she's always been able to make him smile.

"You won't like me anymore if I tell you."

"Who says?"

Harry hides behind his smile. Brielle nudges his shoulder and squeezes his hand. "Just because you're the Prince doesn't mean you're invincible. What happened today?"

"They tried to force me to marry Nyx. Everything is spiraling out of control and apparently it's all my fault. Mother said marrying Nyx would solve everything, but she's awful and marrying her would probably only make things worse. You know she's the first one I ruled out and I did that the moment I met her. I refused and now this entire... _feud_ rests on my crown. And, to top it all off, I still have to marry a woman I don't love and at the same time, fix this bloody war that started because of the open throne."

The funny thing about etiquette is that they never taught him that boys cry too. Crying is always something that royals aren't allowed to do. Sometimes Harry feels like it's all he does.

It looks like he's broken her heart all over again.

"Kinsley isn't all bad. She's nice to her maids and she likes you more than she likes the crown."

He dares to meet her eyes, "But she's not you. I don't want to marry anyone unless it's you."

Brielle can't hide her tears, "I don't either."

"We can run away. Somewhere in the mountains and away from all the chaos."

She laughs and blinks rapidly to clear her vision. "People will recognize you."

"I'll grow a beard."

"Are you capable of that?"

Harry rolls his eyes and nudges her shoulder, "I'll have you know that I am  _very_  capable of that."

"I won't let you abandon Alaria for me."

Soft thumbs brush away her tears, "What if I want you more than I want some silly crown?"

Brielle closes her eyes, "They don't care about what you want."

"My point entirely."

She answers with silence and he lets his hand fall from her cheek.

"How is it possible that I haven't forced you away?"

Blue eyes look at him with the same adoration they've had since they were kids. "Your name is the only one written on my heart. I don't think I'll ever be able to erase it."

Harry leans forward and presses his lips to hers. He's hesitant and careful and praying that she won't push him away.

Three torturous seconds evaporate before Brielle leans into his embrace and returns the love they've both been want of for months. All of her inhibitions freeze before they're engulfed by the fire that rages between them.

"Will you stay?"

Brielle nods, her nose next to his and her lips grazing his like ghosts. "I will."


	11. Eleven

Hushed voices filter through the dense door and tickle Brielle's ears. The pillow beneath her head is too warm. Her limbs are lethargic and ease themselves awake starting from her toes and ending with her fingertips. Harry closes the door on his right foot, unbearably trapping his toes between the frame and the polished mahogany.

"Fuck! By Christ's fingernails!"

Sleep still clutches her brain and her ultramarine eyes squint against the intrusive light that refuses to linger behind the inky drapes. Dreams fade like phantoms as the world pieces itself back together. Her laugh is louder than she intends it to be. Modesty has not always been Harry's best quality. They could bring in tutors from all over the globe and holding his tongue would remain an arduous task.

The silver platter in his hand plummets to the floor with a roaring clatter. On its way down, scalding tea targets Harry's fingers before diverting its course towards his toes. A guard in the hall struggles to contain his snicker. The door rattles in its frame as Harry lends gravity a hand. Flustered, he leans his forehead against the slate colored wall. "Suppose this is why I failed my lessons."

Brielle's nimble fingers are already digging bits of china from the opulent carpet. "You didn't fail them."

The posture he's bent on maintaining at all times falters; his shoulders slump and the edges of his mouth no longer retain a self-irritated scowl. His lips are empathetically sealed as he crouches beside her, his fingers cautious as they close around the base of her wrist. "You don't have to clean up my mess."

Brielle kisses his cheek as softly, the pressure reaching his skin as gentle as the morning rays of sunlight. "I know. Sometimes we all need a little help."

As attentive as Harry tries to be, a shard of glass the size of a grain finds a way to embed itself in his index finger. With a crescent smile, he displays the crimson intrusion. "Still think I didn't fail my lessons?"

Tender hands whose every line is ingrained in her memory help her to her feet. Brielle's laugh floats around the room like a melody, her eyes luminous even as she's facing away from the sun. "A little blood on your finger won't change my answer. You're human, we all carry mistakes."

Forest colored eyes watch her every move with express curiosity. The Harry in front of her is still searching for himself, and the boy with the golden heart hasn't faded into oblivion. For the first time since he broke her heart, he's made her nervous.

"I should take these down to the kitchen."

Harry blinks rapidly and shakes his head. Everything about him has been a cloud of confusion in the last few months, and she's not sure what's going on in his head anymore.

"You don't have to. I told mother I needed your help today, and she's given you leave."

The platter between her hands vibrates in time with the movement of her hands. "Where is she sending me?"

Panic grips Harry like it did the moment he knew consumption had fought its way into her lungs. "No! I--that's not what I meant at all. She's letting me...borrow you for a day. Christ, that sounds awful too. I asked if she would allow me your assistance to liven up the Princess suite and plan the Proposal Week. You were sleeping so well, and I felt awful for keeping you up...I wanted to let you rest and have the day to yourself. I'm bloody sick of treating you like a servant when you are so much more."

A relieved sigh releases the tension building in her lungs. " _You_ , have treated me as anything but a servant."

Harry's pale cheeks flush with color as his eyes shift to focus on the blister he created when he clumsily lost his hold of the breakfast platter he called up for Brielle. "You don't have to go."

"Do you want me to?"

Sleep has released her and it's only now that she notices the tangled nest his hair has become overnight. He looks like he's nineteen again.

"No, but I understand if you want to. I've been quite unfair to you."

Any inclination she had to leave flickers into oblivion. "What about the guards?"

Harry's hands cover hers and guide the tray to the neglected desk he's never had much use for. "Caldwell is aware of my feelings, the others I've taken care of with a few crowns and a shift in their rotations. Everyone on rotation today is aware that you're with me for the reasons I told my mother." The corners of his lips lift ever so slightly, "I didn't want to embarrass you."

Brielle returns his smile as she crosses the room to situate herself on the bed in an incredibly unpolished manner. She closes her eyes and releases the air trapped in her lungs. Foregoing the corset has never felt so wonderful. "You don't embarrass me. You like to knock me over from time to time, but it's never made me feel ashamed." She turns until she's on her side, facing him as he mirrors her actions. "Do I embarrass you?"

Harry shoves the left side of his head into the mountainous pillow, his smile equally as soft. "Never. You've always helped me feel...normal. If it were up to me, I would kiss you every time you smile and hold your hand until you grow sick of me. I've dreamt about what that would be like since the very first moment I knew I was miserably in love with you."

Brielle bites her lip to stifle a laugh, "Am I really that bad to love?"

Confusion clouds his eyes, only to be swallowed by the dawning realization of the blunder he's made. "Quite the opposite. You're...an angel. The place we're in...that's the miserable part. Knowing that you're the other part of my existence and that I can't have that to myself is what's miserable."

She wants to poke his cheek, but she's content with the sphere they've locked themselves in and settles for holding his hand. "I've never liked it when you call me an angel."

Harry's smile is hollow with shame as his fingers fall between hers. "Yeah, that's one of the things that smacked me in the face the other day in the hall."

Brielle pulls his hand towards her and kisses the top of his hand. "I forgive you."

His low chuckle fills the air around them. Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head, a lifetime of regret visibly rushing to the surface and begging to be acknowledged by the woman he's taken everything from. "I thought this was too nice to be real."

She cannot hide her laughter. "Do you break things often in your dreams?"

Amusement livens her features as his eyebrows inch closer to one another, their ends too close to giving him the dreaded singular eyebrow. If his parents saw him, their crowns would melt to their foreheads.

"I don't understand..."

"Do you remember when you told me that my past wouldn't matter when we get married?"

_"My mother told me to be careful this afternoon. She saw us in the treehouse, through the curtains. After I finished my lessons, she said I shouldn't spend so much time with you. Can you believe that? If she wasn't so bloody bent on forcing me to endure ridiculous lessons, I would have told her to sard off. Why does it matter who I spend my time with?"_

_Brielle's thoughts hesitate and linger until she decides to verse her feelings. "Because I'm your servant. We aren't even supposed to be friends. If another royal family knew, Alaria could be in danger if accords were severed."_

_Harry's silken lips spread a misshapen square of warmth near her temple. "You won't always be a servant. When we're married your past won't matter anymore. It's preposterous to divide people because they aren't the same as us. When I'm King, I want to change that."_

_"What if they take away your crown?"_

_The coarse fabric of her dress moves with him and rests in a noticeable crease as he shrugs his shoulders. "As long as they don't take you away, I'll be alright."_

"Yes, I remember."

The haze is still lingering on the invisible border surrounding his pupil. His irises look worn. "Our past should stay rooted where it grew. There is more love than sorrow, and I make mistakes too. You've given me reason to hate you, but you never gave up on me. We knew this would be challenging from the moment love was no longer foreign. Hate is easy. Loving you has always been strenuous. I didn't like the easy choice."

He's eliminated the space between them in just above the time it takes Brielle to blink. Despite the kisses they shared the previous night, she is captured by longing and does not repel his affection. These kisses are not the ones she remembers. He's been careful to avoid need and desperation, albeit in the improper fashion, and every kiss is laced heavily with both. She can taste the raw desire on his lips.

Brielle has an overwhelming desire to squeal with joy. She's wanted to share the pulse of her heartbeat with him since she was fifteen and all she could think about was the muscles hidden beneath layers of overly decorative fabrics he was forced to drape himself in.

His lips are reaching more of her cheek than her mouth. Laughter that is more befitting of a teenager interrupts their slipshod pull towards one another.

"Have you  _always_  been this awful at kissing?"

Harry's eyes remind her of the circular wrapped gemstone necklaces in the market square. "Awful!? How so?"

Brielle's teeth graze the inside of her cheek as she struggles to maintain a serious tone. "You're kissing my cheek more than my mouth."

"I'll have you know, this is quite a difficult angle."

Her eyes linger on the third button of his dress shirt, "Why don't you change it?"

The left side of his mouth lifts into a smile that sends a tempest through her heart. Harry pushes himself off the mattress and nearly falls on top of her when his ankle gets caught in the blanket. He runs his hand through his hair and mumbles "That was embarrassing," as he settles his hands behind her head and leans in to kiss her tenderly.

She has no idea where to put her hands. He's never kissed her this way and her mind is overwhelmed by a thick haze that guides her actions without thought. Her hands end up on his shoulders, pulling him closer as her lungs begin to notice the increasing lack of oxygen.

Harry's arms start to shake and he lowers himself with much less grace than a Prince should have, his hips colliding with hers and sure to leave a bruise. His lips are no longer on hers and a foreign part of her whines almost inaudibly at the broken contact. As soon as the sound breaks free, warmth envelopes her neck and spreads through her veins with every amorous kiss he scatters over her skin.

Brielle's fingers curl in his smooth, silk shirt and pull him flush against her. Harry groans and his hands tentatively follow the curve of her hips, fingertips leaving a small pressure in their wake. She kisses him with every ounce of love she has, her rib cage vibrating with each shaky breath that claims the moments in between.

Harry's fingertips firmly press into her sides, his hips inching forward. She can feel every forbidden inch of him and fire burns beneath her skin. He leans into her again and the fabric that separates them does little to hinder the pressure he's creating with a simple shift of his weight.

A sound she's never made, or thought herself capable of, resonates from her throat. Harry retracts his lips and she feels an urgent need to mend the contact.

Sincere jade eyes calm her sudden distress. Home.

"Are you sure?"

Brielle smiles, and even against the dim lighting, she emits radiance that Harry's never seen before. There's a slight quiver in her voice as she wraps her right leg around his waist. "I'm sure."

She lifts her chin and kisses him like he's been gone for five years. Harry's hands tangle in the rough fabric of her dress, still asking her permission. Brielle's lithe fingers open the top four buttons of his shirt and catch on the fifth. He straightens his back and pulls the loose fabric over his shoulders. When he leans in again, he's too far above her head and his silver necklace hits her eye.

"Ow! What was that?"

Harry looks like he wants to hide, the color in his cheeks reminds her of the summer sunset. "I'm so sorry! It was my necklace I--"

The small rose dangles from his neck, still as beautiful as it was when he gave it to her for her fourteenth birthday.

"You kept it?"

He shrugs his shoulders, a shy smile overtaking his lips. "Yeah, it was the only thing of yours that I had. Wanted to keep you close to me."

No matter how much they refined him, they could never teach the profound love in his heart. Brielle has never adored him so much. Every active part of her mind shuts down, leaving her emotions in charge for the first time in her life. Harry is everywhere and nowhere all at once, and her skin has ignited with a flame so fierce that it consumes every inch of her and transfers to Harry as his fingertips read her skin like treasure maps.

This isn't how she expected to feel at all. Then again, she's never been sure what this moment would be like. Harry is gentle and his hands shake every once in awhile once their clothes are discarded, but once she nods and offers him shy smiles of encouragement they disappear.

Brielle tries to keep her eyes open to watch the change in his eyes, but the sensation is too much and the world is dark for much longer than she wants it to be. Harry doesn't seem to mind, his movements precise and his vocals prominent. All she can think about is how the sheets have suddenly began to stick to her skin and how strangely attractive the baritone sounds Harry is making are. His knee bumps hers as he shifts his weight forward. Brielle accidentally bites his lip.

"Christ, I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

The lack of motion feels more awkward than it did before. "Yes, I'm alright. Can you--?"

"Yeah, sorry."

Harry kisses her collarbones, his fingertips pressing into her hips as his own bump against hers. Brielle wonders if being with him will always feel this awkward. When he moves a certain way or kisses her neck it doesn't feel so bad, but most of it borders being unpleasant. She hopes the foreign feeling won't make an appearance the next time.

He spreads fires over her skin long after the moment has passed. She lays beside him, her face flushed and her lungs have finally begun to regulate her oxygen intake at a more efficient rate. Harry draws patterns on her skin, a shy smile on his lips.

The color in Brielle's cheeks deepens. "I'm having trouble discerning if there's something proper of me to say."

Harry's eyes squint as he laughs, small wrinkles aging his face in the most wonderful way. "There isn't. But thank you for not rushing out of here. I don't think I could have handled that."

"What reason would I have to rush out?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "Wasn't exactly as romantic as I planned."

"I don't think you can really plan these things. Although it's pleasant, it's quite a messy affair."

Harry laughs and places a tired kiss atop her temple. "Not much to be done there. Are you alright? I know...I know that you don't want to be my mistress once I have to marry and I want you to be comfortable. Even if it means letting you go."

She hasn't thought about being the mistress yet. Years ago, yes, but now things have become so tangled and she has no idea what she wants. She doesn't want to see him with someone else, but she wants him just the same. And Kinsley is incredibly sweet, could she go behind her back and carry out the affair that's been going on since they were teenagers?

"I don't know. You've always been what I wanted, and I still want you, but I don't know if I can do that to her."

"I don't deserve you."

The muscles in her cheeks flex as she smiles, "Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"

He shakes his head with determination. "Absolutely not. You have treated me with more love and kindness than I have ever reciprocated. And you've taught me what no one else cared to: how to love someone and take heed of their feelings even if they don't align with my own."

"And you've taught me how to love and how to forgive. You aren't as awful as you think you are. To be fair, and entirely swayed, you are the best Prince this world has seen in centuries. I believe those who claim you're the next Golden King."

Harry sighs and tries to hide the emotions swelling in his eyes. "I'm not sure I can live up to those expectations, but I believe you more than I believe myself. I would disappear with you if you asked it of me."

"Would you choose me?"

"In a heartbeat. I've made that mistake before, and I never want to repeat it."

Brielle closes her eyes and exhales a shaky breath. If she is going to devote herself to him she has to know, no matter how painful it might be. "Do you have any feelings for her?"

"No. She is a kind and beautiful woman, but what I feel for her is friendship at best. What I did after you left was wrong of me. I used her to make you want me and I've thought about it every night. We all have someone, and I may not get to find my someone like everyone else, but I have absolute certainty that you are my someone. Regardless of class, my heart has felt at home with yours and no one else's."

The corner of her mouth hints at a smile though his words have nearly brought her to tears. "I choose you."

Harry ignores the difficult angle and kisses her as gently as she tends to the roses. "I will treasure you more than the stars for as long as I live."

With her heart on the guillotine, she hopes that he means it.


	12. Twelve

Conflict torments Brielle as she walks down the vast corridor in search of Gavril. She's made up her mind, but in a lot of ways she hasn't. The future she used to see with Harry is full of corrosion and the end is no longer in clear sight. There are too many torn seams. Brielle knows that a serene future with him is out of reach, yet, she still finds her heart longing to disappear alongside his, to find solace in some place new, a place where the crown is only currency and not his legacy to uphold.

Two guards who carry her secret walk by. Part of her is disappointed in the way Harry handled the situation and the choice she made that led to it, but the other part has found solace and draws the bright color of her blood to her cheeks. She hopes they don't notice as her eyes drift to the bright strawberries in her hands. They were among the last red fruits in the storeroom, with any luck, her gesture won't render them wasted.

Gavril is patrolling the walls, a bored expression overtaking the practiced look of stony aggravation. Cautious, Brielle decides against greeting him with her usual wave. The nerves in her face are giving her trouble and her smile comes across as forced. His expression does not change. She's not sure if he saw her and ignored her approach or if he's noticed and chosen to ignore her.

Brielle straightens her shoulders and forces her smile to remain in place. She's come to apologize and she will not be deterred. The hole in the bottom of her left shoe catches on a rock a little smaller than an acorn. It needles its way into the crease between the knuckle of her biggest toe. Accustomed to the obstruction, she bites her cheek and drags her foot until the stone rolls free and is lost among the others behind her.

Gavril is still patrolling the walls and pretending that she doesn't exist. Brielle's smile falters as her pace increases. He's not cruel enough to avoid her while she's walking beside him, his dark eyes shift to meet hers for a flicker of a moment. Gavril slows his pace and allow her the moment she's been rehearsing for a few days.

Brielle pokes his arm and holds the strawberries up high enough for him to see. "Peace offering?"

She watches the corners of his lips twitch as he tries to hide his smile. "Only you would."

"Do you not want them? I will be just as happy to eat them myself, you know. They were the last ones in the storeroom."

He reaches for the largest one and the conversation falls back to an uncomfortable silence. Brielle is forming the words when he steals them from her. "You've made your choice, then?"

Brielle watches the birds hopping from tree to tree without much care. If only life was that easy. "Yes. I know that my decision is not one you wanted, but I can't help who my heart is tethered to. I do not wish to lose your friendship, but I cannot apologize for loving someone and I understand if you choose to leave."

"Your heart has not ever tried to seek someone else the way that it seeks him. Perhaps that's why you spent an entire night and day  _helping_  him."

She wants to send her foot into his shin like a child would. All she's been is honest and he's spat in her face for it simply because her heart does not love him the way he wants it to.

The strawberries squish between her fingers, their insides run down her wrist. "I've been nothing but your friend. You have no right to treat me like dirt beneath your shoes because I do not share your affections. I love him and that does not mean that I love you any less because my love for you is of a different kind. I am not an object, do not treat me like one. He is no less human than anyone else. It is not wrong of me to be there for him or to do my job." She glares at him with all the anger she possesses, "I am not a harlot. Perhaps that is why my heart does not desire yours."

Brielle drops the mangled strawberries at his feet and storms off toward the castle. She doesn't know where she's going. There's a tidal wave consuming her chest and she needs to drift to shore somehow.

The wallpaper morphs into a giant blur that is interrupted by the occasional dark block of wood. Brielle follows the ornate blur to a door far from where she started her blind search. Her knuckles are knocking against the wood before she stops to consider whose door she is standing in front of.

Harry opens the door with a look of discomfort. The first two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, the soft fabric loose around his neck. He's wearing his crown. The large jewels surrounded by a river of gold look out of place atop his head. Brielle has seen him wear the gilded power symbol on multiple occasions, but it has never looked so foreign.

He catches the tears before she recognizes them and takes her hand in his, the rings adorning his fingers cool against her skin. The heavy door falls shut with a noticeable thud. Harry's hands are warm against her cheeks, his thumbs caress her cheeks with an earnestness she has only seen when she was sixteen and told him she should leave him and spare them both the torment of watching the other with someone else.

"Who should I banish?"

Brielle's tears slow as she shakes her head and a laugh struggles to break the surface. "Please don't banish anyone for my sake."

Familiar lips kiss her forehead. "What happened?"

She wraps her arms around him and presses her ear to his chest. The sound of his heartbeat slows the rampant pace her own has adapted. Harry mirrors her, his hands holding her close with a gentle firmness.

"I spoke to Gavril about my decision. I told him I chose you and he implied that I'm your harlot."

Her words are caught in the fabric of his shirt. Harry can only catch a few words out of order, but he hears enough. Brielle's tears seep through the thin material and quell the embers in his blood.

"Is it so wrong of me to love you?"

She doesn't understand why everyone else in the Kingdom is permitted to love anyone of their choosing, except anyone in the Royal Family. In the village they can love freely, but in the castle love is a measured game played with diamonds and gold. She is neither and will tarnish him no matter how she is looked at.

Brielle can feel the falter in his heartbeat before he pulls away. His jade eyes carry a darker pigment today.

"Not in my eyes. Your love is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I cannot express how sorry I am that our relationship is so...complicated." He's on the verge of tears as he throws his crown across the room. The metal hits the wall with a loud crash and guards are banging on his door within the span of a moment.

Harry pulls at his hair and closes his eyes, "I'm alright. Please return to your stations."

Once their footsteps trudge down the hall, he sighs and takes her hands in his. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to lose my temper. Love is not wrong and I hope we can show them that despite all the obstacles. I will marry you and that has never felt wrong to me."

His lips feel like the rose petals in the spring. Brielle breathes him in like the summer rain long after he's rested his forehead against her own.

"I love you."

Brielle smiles and laces her fingers through his, "You won't get rid of me that easily."

Harry laughs and kisses her again. "Not my intention. I haven't told you enough and I want you to know."

The smile he wears reminds her of the way he smiled when she made him two patterned silk shirts for Christmas. He wore them to every meeting and event for three straight months until his mother told him he looked poor for wearing the same shirts over and over again.

"I love you, too. Why do you have your crown today? I thought Kinsley was arriving tomorrow evening?"

A heavy sigh falls from his lips, "She is. Mother wanted a portrait done for the festival and Proposal Week. She's been acting strange, but I don't know how to approach it without overstepping."

"I noticed that, too. Do you think she knows? These last few months haven't been as secretive...what if one of the guards broke his silence?" If that's the case, she's praying that it wasn't Gavril. Harry has already shown his temper towards him and she's afraid of what he might do.

"It's possible, but if that were the case she would have called me to the Throne Room by now. She likes to dissect things until she's certain of the truth. Besides, if one of the guards were to have told, everyone in Alaria would know by this hour and there hasn't been any indication of outrage aside from the randomized attacks from Wayland that have died down. I was headed to talk to her after I changed, the collar was starting to strangle me."

Brielle removes her hand and begins to unbutton the pink silk as her mind follows ends that may not hold any truth. "Maybe she's still upset about your choice. They did want you to marry Nix and you told them no, which I don't recall you doing once in the time that I've known you. Is something this soft really that much of a pain?"

"Perhaps, they do mention it at the dinner table. I suppose they wish me to feel guilty, but that woman is a cox-comb. She speaks in gold and wants nothing less." She undoes the last button and he shrugs the loose fabric off his shoulders. "Yes, it's pleasantly comfortable and unbearably so all at once."

Her fingers linger over the smooth outlines of muscles that have developed over years of riding, fencing, and training with the guards. A trace of a smile plays at her lips. "You should try a corset. Nothing about them is in the slightest bit comfortable. It's as if we were meant to breathe less."

"Maybe I should banish them."

Brielle laughs and playfully shoves him. "Banishing is not the solution to everything."

Harry pulls her against him and rests his hands on her waist. "But what if it is? What if we could just banish ourselves leave all this behind?"

She stands on her toes and kisses him as if he's made of glass. "Sometimes we just have to play the game."

"What if I'm tired of playing?"

"We'll find a way to leave. Giving up is not in your nature."


	13. Thirteen

Harry is trying his best to leave the fringe around his wrists alone as he waits for his mother to speak. Whenever she summons him, vocabulary sticks to his throat like honey does when he decides to eat spoonfuls with his tea rather than inside it. She changes her mood like the weather and he has yet to learn the proper approach.

Kinsley is arriving within the hour and he's praying that all she wants to do is discuss his expectations and the mannerisms he is to execute while she is present. He's been training for this all his life, yet they have always felt the need to remind him what he was "made" for. Sometimes he wonders if they wanted him or if his existence is a product of expectation and legacy.

Imported China clinks as it meets the polished table sitting between both sofas. Harry withdraws his eyes from his sleeves to meet his mother's lighter irises. She's calm, but the gray is darker than he's ever seen it and she's tapping her fingers in her lap like she does when she's unsure of how to handle something. The lamb in his stomach wants to crawl up his throat. This isn't about Kinsley: it's about Brielle.

"You've been spending a lot of time with Brielle again."

Tea stalls his response, the hot liquid feels like fire as it travels through his body. He sets the cup down as quickly as he can without drawing attention to the tremors running through his fingers. "Yes, she's been helping me prepare for Kinsley's arrival. I asked her to prepare Kinsley a dress for the festival since she does so well with yours."

She looks at him with a skepticism he hasn't seen since he was sixteen. The smile that follows is telling and he knows that she's been paying more attention than he thought she was. "Please retain some dignity and spare me the fabrication. I am not blind nor have I ever been."

Harry meets his mother's eyes with the calmness he's always had trouble holding on to. "If you're expecting me to say that she is a dalliance, I would sooner hang myself."

"You know I love her too, but you can't continue the affair. We can't risk more unrest in the Kingdom."

His eyes are seconds away from falling out of his skull. "More unrest? What  _unrest_  would Brielle cause the Kingdom?"

The look she returns is far too calm for his liking. If she's upset about it, the least she can do is show it.

Anne folds her hands in her lap, the few rings adorning her fingers failing to sparkle away from the sun. "There will be riots the moment someone discovers she is your mistress. They are already frightened, showing them you forsake your own duties would only spread distrust."

"Forsake my duties...? Have you lost your mind? Forsake my duties! Mother, ruling this Kingdom is my priority, I have not had the pleasure to diverge from the course set for me at birth. They are frightened because they are being attacked, that holds no relevance to anyone I am involved with other than the throne. For Christ's sake, they would be overjoyed to learn that one of their own was allowed to hold my heart in their hands. Do you even know what they want? Have you spoken to them other than necessity on your rare excursions? They whisper that I am the Golden King, why whisper if they are afraid of a commoner becoming my wife?"

One of his rings gets tangled in his hair and halts the nervous motion of his hands. Too many thoughts are colliding in his head, he knocks his knees against the ridiculously small table.

Ignoring his lapse in manners, his mother continues. "I'm going to tell you a story and I want you to listen. Sit down and stop pulling at your hair, you'll be bald by next year if you keep it up."

Harry obeys and returns to the couch with a taut jaw.

Anne sighs and watches the trees outside the window, somehow trapping herself inside the thin web of veins. "His name was Silas. My father brought him to the castle when I was fifteen. He was part of the Royal Guard and forbidden. I had always gotten myself into trouble by seeking out the things I wasn't permitted to have, and he was no different. He was stubborn and obedient and resisted his feelings for months before he relented. Silas taught me how to be careful, but he was more skilled and it was my fault we were caught. When it was time to make wedding arrangements, I refused and told my parents that if I were to marry, I would marry Silas and no one else."

Salty tears threaten her hardened exterior. She wipes them away with a quick dash of the hand. "They executed him for treason and forced me to watch. We measure ourselves in loss, that is not a choice; it is our birthright. My actions will not be as severe, but I will take them. You are my only son, I love you more than anything in this world, but this is not your choice. Love her, but leave her be."

Harry's hands cover his face, his rings cold against his skin. She's experienced forbidden love and she  _knows_  the torment his crown has placed on his heart, yet she still demands a distance he cannot give.

"If your parents inflicted such anguish in your heart, why inflict it upon me?"

Her expression cracks, the stone in her eyes is weak but not crumbling. "It is my duty, as it is yours."

The glare he returns is nothing short of furious. "Last I recall, my duty is to keep Alaria prosperous and our citizens pleased."

He's at the door before she can respond, fingers pulling the dense wood with all the strength he possesses. The hinges groan with the rapid movement only to be followed by a thunderous boom as the door swings into the wall.

Kinsley will be arriving any minute and he hopes she can excuse his faltering regality. And Brielle, he hates to put her in such a high risk situation, but he needs to tell her what his mother said or he'll lose his head thinking about it. With any luck, he can sneak her into his room without Kinsley noticing. She likes her so much that she's asked for her to be her maid again and he has no idea how extensively she uses her maids.

There's a note waiting for him in his chambers, sealed with ordinary wax imprinted with a seal he's never seen before: a crown surrounded by flames. The edges are still cooling and he tears off a good chunk of the paper while opening it.

_Give up the crown or lose your lover._

No one outside of the castle knows about Brielle, but he worries nonetheless. If someone does know, he's not sure how they plan to carry out their threat. The castle is impenetrable without someone sending out an alarm and all hideaways are all hidden in a maze of tunnels.

He tells the guards to keep a watchful eye on the perimeters and the tunnels without further explanation. Angry with his mother, he keeps the note to himself. Kinsley is already in the Throne Room, her eyes wide with concern upon his late entrance. He has no excuse and does not make one as he kisses her hand.

"Welcome home, Princess."

The announcement is a blur that doesn't make it to his ears until the clapping begins. Kinsley is looking at him like he's part of the constellations and the guilt of stringing her along stirs in his stomach and taints his smile. Brielle is nowhere in sight. All he wants to do is find her, but Kinsley is desperate to see the Princess Suite and all but drags him back into the castle, chatting his ear off about which type of rose she should choose for the ceremony.

"You should ask Brielle, she's nurtured them for years and knows which is the brightest and most fragrant during what season."

Kinsley smiles and pinches the expensive fabric of her dress between her fingers, "You're quite fond of her. How long has she been here?"

Harry fights his smile but cannot contain it. "Since I was a year old. She was born here and was the only kid that wasn't afraid to be around me. That, and she lives here so it was easy to be friends."

"So  _that's_  why you call her by her first name."

The guards stationed outside the Princess Suite nod without moving their heads too much. Harry's always thought it stupid how they train to behave as statues unless needed otherwise. It makes every interaction forced and awkward and he can hardly ever break them beyond the surface. He's been trained too, but he can't imagine the strain they feel having to portray stone through all hours of the day, year round.

"I was worried that you'd changed your mind."

He's too busy choosing words to warn Brielle about his mother and catches the last two words as he swings the door open. "Changed my mind?"

"About me. You were upset when I left, I thought maybe I had done something."

Kinsley is used to nice things and doesn't make the surprised expression Brielle did when he first opened the doors to show her the room he's always wanted her to have. She runs her hands over the golden accents and jewelry with bright eyes as she waits for his response.

"My sincerest apologies. There were some...issues that I needed to take care of and I didn't want to worry you with the details. If there's anything you'd like to change, by all means let me know."

"Have you ever wondered why they don't allow us to claim this room the moment the announcement is made?"

The smallest chuckle fills the space between them. "Enough that I've been bold enough to ask. They want the timing of the heir to be as precise as possible so we're separated to avoid premarital relations."

Kinsley's cheeks resemble the sunset, "Oh."

Harry hasn't prepared any conversation starters and the silence is almost as awkward as the first time they met. Kinsley twists her engagement ring around her finger. He didn't spend as much time looking for this one as he spent having one hand crafted for Brielle, but the diamond has a nice shine and the design is regal enough that her smile was genuine as he placed it on her finger in front of Alaria.

"I should get some rest, the carriage ride here was absolute hell. I don't know how anyone is expected to travel comfortably while sitting in the same position for hours that feel like centuries."

He kisses her cheek and the color in her cheeks takes on a deeper saturation as she measures her steps down the hall. The bell in the servant's quarters rings the moment he hears her door fall shut. Brielle is having difficulty maintaining her expression as she announces herself outside his door, the guards still giving her a hard time despite him asking them to allow her entrance without question.

The flickering light of the fire casts ominous shadows over his face as his fingertips pinch his bottom lip. "Did mother see you?"

Brielle's lips pull to the left in an offset frown, "Earlier or on my way up?"

"Did she tell you the story?"

She winces and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. "Yes, right before she told me that her measures would not be as extreme, but she will not hesitate to take them if there is not distance between us. Distance that I'm certain I can't provide."

He joins her at the bed, taking her hand in his and watching the flames dance in the hearth. "My offer still stands. I'll go wherever you go, crown or not."

Brielle shakes her head before resting it against his shoulder, "Alaria needs you."

" _I_  need you."

"She's going to send me away. What will we do then?"

Harry sighs and kisses her temple, "What we can. I'll find you, and I'll come for you. Wherever you are, you will forever have my heart."


	14. Fourteen

Lanterns illuminate the grounds like a swarm of fireflies frozen in mid-flight. The thrum of voices rises over the music as the citizens of Alaria greet their new Princess and celebrate the return of the Solstice Festival. There has been a crowd around the Royal Family from the moment the front gates were opened. Anne keeps a watchful eye on Harry as he makes his way around, greeting guests and thanking them with the perfect smile he's been practicing for twenty-four years. Kinsley radiates happiness, clinging to Harry's side like he'll change his mind if she lets go. 

The crowns on their heads look like costumes. Neither looks remotely close to the other and they're both oversized and remind her of the replicas a few of the shop owners sell for children who believe that no dream is out of reach. Children who envy the crown and know nothing of its misfortunes.

Harry's act is fading. Kinsley is talking to him, but his eyes are scanning the crowd for her. She's trying her best to keep distance between them and it's far more difficult than she imagined it would be. If Anne catches them too close to one another, she'll send her to a Kingdom on the other side of the mountain, too far for Harry to venture without someone taking notice.

A small hand pulls at the fabric of her dress. Nora peers up at her, her brown eyes reflecting the warm glow of the lanterns like calm pools of water. "Will you play with us, Elle?"

"Of course I will! What are we playing?"

"Blind man's bluff!"

"And  _who_  might I ask, is the blind man?"

Nora grabs her hand and leads her to the opposite side of the courtyard where the adults have given the children space to play without causing too much trouble. "Merek!"

Brielle laughs and pretends not to notice Nora's enthusiasm for the boy she claims she has less than zero feelings for. All the stress clinging to her bones evaporates as she pretends she's a child again, running around without a single care. Time has never felt so endless, so...light. She's all but forgotten about her tumultuous love affair with Harry until Caldwell steps in and interrupts the game.

"May I borrow your blind man?"

The children laugh and elect a new blind man as Brielle walks away with Caldwell. Now that she's stopped playing, she's out of breath and struggling with her sentences. "Is...everything alright?"

"Yes, Pri--Harry asked me to inform you that he would like to meet in  _your_  house at half past ten."

Brielle laughs, "It's hard addressing him by name, isn't it? Took me  _months_  to perfect when to address him by title and when to address him by name."

"He's quite the odd royal. I can see why Alaria loves him--why you love him."

She turns her face to hide her smile. "Yes, he's an agreeable man. Half past ten is an odd hour, did he mention why?"

Caldwell shakes his head, "No, he only had a moment before Kinsley reattached herself to his arm. Perhaps an early Christmas gift?"

_Brielle laughs as Harry pulls her through the empty tunnels, his palms clammy like they always are when he's got a surprise planned for her. "Where are we_ _going_ _?"_

_Harry turns his head so she can see his smile. "To your Christmas present, of course."_

_She doesn't understand why they're walking so quickly if he's taking her through the tunnels, but if she asks again he's going to give her another vague answer. He's a day early and she has no idea what to expect from him. Every year he does something drastically different from the year before and he never fails to surprise her._

_The soles of her feet ache, but he assures her that they're almost there and she holds her tongue. She doesn't want him to know how hard she works and the aches that linger beneath the surface. It's hard enough convincing him that the work she does isn't all bad, if he knew how strenuous it could get he wouldn't stand for it and everything would become an even bigger mess._

_Harry drops her wrist and places his hands over her eyes. Brielle laughs loudly and rests her hands atop his, not attempting to pry them away. "_ _Now_ _you cover my eyes?"_

_Whichever chamber they're in smells like roses. The bitter cold attaches itself to the stone walls and bleeds from the surface with a slowed vigor. Harry removes his hands from her face and rests them above her hips. "Now I show you your present. Merry Christmas, Elle."_

_He's brought her to the royal chamber, but he's made some changes. There are candles around every corner and luxurious blankets at the corner of the room. Of course, he didn't forget the wine or sweets, they're sitting beneath a silver platter beside the constructed bed._

_Brielle's heart dances with the flames. "You did all this for me?"_

_Harry kisses her cheek, "Of course I did. I know you're still not ready to leave, but I thought we could pretend for a few days. Told mother I sent you to Dryes for some art supplies and that I was heading to Swevert for more canvases. I've also...tipped Mae and Lilly to bring us food."_

_"What about the tunnel checks?"_

_"Taken care of."_

_She turns and stands on her toes to kiss him, "I love it."_

Brielle shakes her head and twists an old ring around her finger. "No, he hasn't done that since I was twenty. Have you been enjoying the festivities?"

He looks at his uniform and stifles a laugh, "Just got off rotation. The food looks very enticing, though."

Three seconds pass before he's gotten himself a plate full of meat and fresh bread. Brielle doesn't bother hiding her smile. She likes Caldwell and from what she's learned, he's becoming a good friend of Harry's despite his position in the castle.

"So, what does a man like you do in his free time? Surely it involves more than eating."

She can see Harry taking with some of the townspeople in the middle of the courtyard. His eyes roam too frequently and she knows he's unhappy. Public functions are only his favorite when he arranges them. If his parents construct the event, he's forced to play a part and shroud himself to appease them. Kinsley looks right at home, but it's hard to tell if she's been trained to act as she does or if that's how she acts when no one is watching.

" _Definitely_  a lot of eating. Sometimes Harry and I play cards and sometimes I like to defeat him at hand to hand combat to make up for the fencing practice I have to endure twice a week."

"You play cards? My god, he's bloody awful at cards. A tragedy, really."

Caldwell answers with a mouthful of turkey leg, "Why do you think I play him? Pompous bastard can't win everything."

A laugh rips from her throat and a few people turn their heads. Harry catches her eye and smiles too wide for Kinsley's liking. Brielle tries her best not to notice the falter in her smile and the uncomfortable posture of her shoulders. "He certainly can't."

He focuses on his food while Brielle pulls apart a piece of bread and stares at the silver band on her right hand. Harry gave it to her for Christmas when she was fourteen. The ring was never meant as an engagement ring, as far as she thinks anyway, but it's always felt like more than just a ring. Something about the look on Kinsley's face when she caught Harry's expression makes the cool metal feel like searing coals.

"What do you think of her?"

The corners of his lips catch on the goblet and prompt a whisper of a slurp before the cup is pulled away. "Of who? Princess Kinsley?"

Her cheeks heat and show her embarrassment for asking such a question in the first place. "Yes, pardon my asking. It isn't my place and I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Caldwell doesn't mind and shrugs his shoulders as he watches them rotate through the crowd. "She's nice enough. I think she's got more of the royal manner in her blood, but she's certainly a lot better than the other ones that visited. If you're asking in concern of Harry's feelings, I think he likes having someone who's had the same formal training, but he's been looking at you all night. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

She feels like a doddypoll for bringing it up. It's not like he has much of a choice in the matter. Caldwell brings the goblet to his lips and drinks as if he's never tasted wine before tonight. Brielle follows his gaze to a woman across the courtyard. She's wearing a crimson satin dress that follows her movements like water.

Brielle recognizes her from somewhere but the interactions have a faded hole in her memory. She used to play with her and Harry in the market square. Farah. "If she's caught your eye, might as well ask her to dance. She won't bite, you know."

He nearly chokes. "No. No, I couldn't possibly."

"And why not?"

Caldwell mumbles incoherent sentences to himself, excuses made in part of his uniform. Brielle nudges his shoulder, her smile telling. "Her name's Farah. She runs a vegetable stand in the market.  _And_ she's available. Introduce yourself at the very least!"

The remaining wine vanishes in moments and Caldwell straightens his shoulders as he sidesteps through some dancing couples. Brielle has no idea what the time is, but heads to the break in the castle wall anyway. The last time she was in the house Harry had built for her, she'd been in agony and everything looked like a gigantic blur, she wants to see it as it is. Kinsley might not let him leave, anyway. From what it looks like, she plans to have him at her side for the remainder of the night.

Brielle's dress catches on a bramble and tears at the waist. She hopes Harry plans to stay for a while, otherwise she'll have to come up with a viable excuse for the ruin of her dress. The moon casts a sliver shadow on the ground that reminds her of the crown Harry used to wear when he was younger. He hated that crown more than he hated his lessons. The silver always reminded him that he was less important, less powerful even though he shared the same bloodline.

She's never thought him to be so, but it's clear that he's still trying to climb out of his parent's shadow. Kinsley is a step in the right direction, but they won't let him escape so easily. The whispers have grown in volume and they're doing everything they can to keep him where he belongs instead of where Alaria wants him to be.

Their house looks the same as when she left it, desolate and full of melancholy dreams that have yet to burst into fruition. Every fantasy she has ever constructed is a ghost between the walls, threatening to tear the structure down the moment the dream shatters into oblivion. All the furniture is impeccable down to the stitching, the art all masterpieces constructed by his own hands...but the life is missing. There is no laughter caught in the creases between the walls, no midnight conversations drifting between the rafters, no life inside the colors that decorate the interior. He's built her a home without the heart and the heart has always been what she's wanted.

Brielle is trapped in made up memories when Harry steps inside. He's lost his crown and he looks like he wants to collapse into the earth. "And I thought mother was suffocating."

She wants to laugh, but the sound has gone from her lungs, replaced by the fear that has clawed its way through her veins since the day she recognized she was forever tethered to this one man. "Do you think she's playing her part as well?"

Harry removes his shoes and drops them by the door with a resounding bang. "Kinsley? No, she's fallen into it too well. It's part of her blood, she doesn't remember what it's like to be normal."

Brielle twists the ring around her finger. "Do you remember what it's like to be normal?"

He sits beside her with his legs pressed to hers, fingertips hesitant to take her own. "I'm normal when I am with you. Everything in my life is fabricated...you're the only one who reminds me that not everything is a show. That love, does not always have to be displayed in jewels."

"I can't give you jewels like she can."

Harry takes her hand, his fingers filling the empty faces between hers. "I don't want anymore jewels."

His lips are at her neck and the words fall to the earth in broken syllables. The minutes tick by in shallow breaths and sweaty sheets. Brielle is in a haze long before the walls have captured their memory. Harry's hands are awkward against her hips and her shoulder has fallen asleep. She can see their combined shadow on the wall, the moonlight does not make it any less sinful.

Another kiss to her shoulder, his lips cooler than minutes prior. "What are you thinking about?"

A thousand answers and none of them will do her thoughts justice. The thought that bothers her most is the first to fill the air. "Kinsley. I understand your arrangement, but my heart aches for reasons I cannot escape. I think you should tell her about me. About us."

Harry's grip is protective and hesitant. She can't see his expression but she knows the idea does not thrill him. All he's done to keep up the game he's been force to play and she's asking him to shatter the frame.

"Tell her? What happens if she goes straight to mother? What happens when she sways her kindness and changes your fate?"

Brielle sighs and shifts until his hands fall free and she can face him without a sharp pain in her side. "She isn't as cruel as she portrays. Did you know she gave me golden earrings for my eighteenth birthday?"

The way his eyes enlarge tells her that he hadn't the slightest idea. "When she spoke to me, she told me that if traditions were meant to be broken she would break them for me. But she was raised to follow the rules and she doesn't want to see you crumble like she did."

"She said that?"

"Yes, and believe it or not, there was a shine to her eyes that was not from the sunlight. I know that it's something that could destroy everything, but Harry, every time I look at her I want to bury myself beneath the ocean and never resurface. She deserves to know. I don't want her to lose every ounce of happiness the way I did when I caught you."

His fingertips remind her of rose petals as they trail down her cheek. "Alright. If it means that much to you, I'll tell her. Just promise me that you'll treasure me wherever our paths may lead."

Brielle bites the inside of her cheek. She's always been wary of their final goodbye, but this feels too final to be her imagination. "I will treasure you always, my English rose."


	15. Fifteen

Harry hums in agreement as Kinsley mentions roses being her top choice of flower. She's been going on about wedding preparations for what feels like three days and he has no idea when the idea came to her to plan anything beyond the dress she'll wear. None of it matters, he still won't want to marry her no matter the splendor she adorns herself and the event with.

Eight pages turn and she is still talking. She hasn't left his side since her carriage stopped in the drive and he's beginning to think that she might have been the wrong choice. There's nothing wrong with her desire to be with him, but the attention smothers him more than the crown. And it makes the nerves beneath his skin buzz with an incessant tension that refuses to leave. With Kinsley at his side, he cannot go near Brielle and she's the only one who's kept him from losing his mind all these years. His fingertips tap the page in an anxious rhythm. Kinsley watches their motion and frowns. "You haven't been listening, have you?"

"Hmm?" The green is his eyes looks gray today.

"You're not listening."

Her voice is softer than a wind chime with little wind and just as lonely. Harry closes the book and wills his lips to smile. "I'm sorry, my mind wandered. Were you still talking about choosing to have the wedding inside the castle or outside on the lawn?"

Blush rises to her cheeks, swift like the fleets of ships her father commands. "Yes, do you have a preference?"

His eyebrows raise. No one has asked him about anything wedding related. All demands, no questions. "Me?"

Kinsley laughs, "Yes,  _you_! I know this isn't exactly what you want with all the preparations your parents have made and your expectations, but I do want to give you a choice."

She isn't as different as he thought. If his heart did not belong to Brielle he might have fallen in love with her after a few years. "I would prefer it outside, but indoors works just as well if that is your preference."

Kinsley smiles to herself and he can't tell if it's because she had the same thought or if she wants the wedding to be indoors. "What are you reading?"

Without thought, he runs his fingers over the cover and the thick ridges of the paper at the sides. "Prince Hat in the Underworld."

The look on her face brings a sadness that he knew would come eventually. Royals aren't bred to play nice, even if they get on well with one another. "That's a children's book."

Harry shrugs his shoulders and keeps his expression fixed in place. If he's learned anything from his lessons, it's how to act. "It's one of my favorites and I want to share it with my children." Is it really so wrong of him to want to spend time with his children the way his parents never spent time with him?

Kinsley laughs but it is not full of pleasant humor, she is mocking him without directly saying so. Without considering the alternative. "That's what we have nursemaids and servants for. Our job is not to raise the heir, it is to raise the Kingdom."

He wants to ask her if she has any thoughts of her own. If the crown has embedded itself into her skull and taken over her thoughts so she recites lessons like personal truths. The disappointment is visible in his eyes as he rises, book clenched in his right hand. "Feel free to make changes to the ceremony, I will not mind. If you'll excuse me, I have a painting to finish."

The halls are swimming with unfamiliar faces. Harry keeps his head down and stretches his stride as far as he can manage without causing a sharp pain somewhere in his legs. All he wants to do is throw something, alleviate the stress that constantly carves lacunas in his bones without being told what to do. Without being told who to love and how to love them. When he did he become so pitiful?

Each dagger hits the stable wall with a thwack. Harry couldn't find Caldwell and he needed to release energy before he took it out on the staff or the visiting royals. All he does is run himself in circles. Vacuous circles that increase the burden of the crown.

Harry doesn't hear the impact of the dagger. Ten are embedded in the dark oak, but the eleventh is missing.

"Looking for this?"

Caldwell steps out from behind the stable, dagger in hand with the hilt poised toward him like an offering. Harry attempts a smile but he's sure it comes out as more of a grimace. "How did you do that?"

He smiles as if it was a hobby. "Training exercise at the Tilgrim palace. I was born there and everyone is bred to be soldiers. Brutal place to be a child, but it comes in handy. Kinsley is looking for you."

Something that sounds like a fractured laugh extracts itself from his throat. "When is she not?"

"I take it she isn't who you thought she was?"

Harry shakes his head and drops the dagger to the pile of metal a few inches away from his boots. "She is, but she's more of the crown than she is the woman I thought I met a few months prior." She's not Brielle.

Caldwell helps him dislodge the daggers from the stable wall. "Have you ever wondered who you would be if you were born to a different family?"

He twirls a dagger between his fingers, circling the hilt in empty spaces and leaving the blade toward the ground. "Not until recently. It's all a bit of a mess right now."

All he's been told is that he's been made to be King, there was no room for other options. No room for choice. For a majority of his life he thought that being King was what he wanted and now he's struggling to see how he fits into it all, if he's really made to be King. He doesn't want to end up like the others--shells inhabited by gleaming crowns.

Caldwell is waiting for him to continue. Harry likes that about him, he's both a talker and a listener and it's all based on observation. "Thank you for asking instead of expecting. Could you show me that dagger trick one afternoon?"

"I think your mother would have me banished."

He wants to laugh but it's stuck in his vocal chords and all he can manage is a taut smile. "Our best guard? Nonsense! At worst, your shifts would be longer and far away from me." She's always played chess with the people he thought were his friends, moving them far from him or sending them away entirely. She'll never admit to it, but he's always known. He's still wondering why she hasn't sent Brielle away if she wants him to keep his distance.

"Would you like me to send for Brielle?"

Either he's lost his skill or he's forgotten how to show only what should be seen around Caldwell. Maybe it's both. Pretending to be the crown and only the crown has become exhausting.

"Please?"

* * *

Brielle coughs as the dust clings to the roof of her mouth. She made the mistake of sneezing while dusting the shelves and now the dust has found a new home. Sable should have done the dusting months ago. Now that royals from the eleven other Kingdoms are visiting to congratulate the bride to be, everything has to be spotless, even the bricks.

Once the shelves are clear of obtrusive substance, she shakes the dust off the rags outside and heads to the kitchen. It's too quiet. There should be clattering pans and chattering blending with a few shouts. Everyone is present and instead of volume there is fearful whispering.

Brielle taps Lilly's shoulder. She turns around and there is flower all over her face, the apron she's wearing rendered all but useless. "Did something happen?"

Lilly turns her head, her eyes rotating toward the far corner of the room. "Unusual appearance. They aren't used to interacting with Royalty down here. Want to look like they're working as they're expected to."

She attempts to look over without being obvious, but from her angle it's impossible to see anything and be discreet. "Who is she?"

"Princess Alden of Rewlynth, future bride of the youngest Tucova Prince. She is Princess Kinsley's maid of honor."

"Where is Tucova?"

Another voice cuts in, intimidating in it's resonate tone. "Tucova is on the other side of the mountain. Twelve miles, to be exact. I don't believe we've met."

Brielle's hands are quick to wipe the dust from her uniform. She bows as low as she can manage without being overzealous. "Brielle. My apologies, your Highness."

Alden looks her over with confusion. None of the servants have greeted her in such an eloquent manner and although she is impressed, it is still strange. "Just Alden, please."

Harry's taught her how to act in front of other Royals when taken by surprise and she's thankful that he took the time. She doesn't know Alden at all and by the look on her face, she's just as taken aback as she is.

"How long have you been here, Brielle?"

"Since birth, y--Alden."

Their eyes share a similarity that's a little off putting and Brielle feels even more uncomfortable with the questions. No Royal has ever asked her questions that don't pertain to them and they have  _never_  appeared so surprised with her speech or manners.

"Were you raised alongside the Prince?"

Lilly looks like she wants to vomit. "Yes, I was. He was born a year before I was and the nursemaid thought it best that he have someone his age to spend time with to prevent complications from isolation."

Alden cocks her head and pushes her lips out as a thought crosses her brain. "That would make sense. Well, it's nice to meet you, Brielle."

Brielle returns the farewell and watches her leave with rising curiosity. Every time a Princess visits it's an entirely different person. She thought that since they all shared a similar training, they would all act alike in one way or the other, but the only similarities they share lie in their manners and presentation. Aside from those few qualities, each is like a new flower, beautiful but varying in display.

Alden is such a contrast to Kinsley, it's hard to imagine them being close. But then again, she's the opposite of Harry and they're closer than they were ever supposed to be. She almost wishes Harry was marrying her instead of Kinsley. Almost.

She's helping with dinner when Caldwell walks in, nervousness clinging to his features. "Elle, you are needed in the East wing."

Harry's chambers are in the East wing. Judging by his expression, something has happened. Brielle finishes rolling the dough and wipes her hands on her apron before following him down the emptying hallways. She waits until they are away from anyone that can overhear before she asks the question that's had her fingers pulling at loose seams in her uniform.

"Is he alright?"

Caldwell turns his head, a comfortable smile on his lips. "Yes and no. Physically, he's fine. Something happened earlier that upset him and he isn't...well, he isn't acting like himself. The Harry beneath the crown, I mean."

Her heart sinks. When they were younger, he had days where he crumbled in on himself and sat in his room, staring at the ceiling until someone realized he was missing. Sometimes he left the grounds and it took them a day or two to find him. And every time he would only talk to her.

"Did he say anything?"

"Not much. He said something about everything being a mess and Kinsley not being who he thought she was. The way she follows him around is...interesting."

"I think she's still trying to learn who he is. I can't imagine this is an easy process."

She tried to understand once when Harry tore apart one of his drawings and yelled that she didn't understand and that she couldn't understand. He was so angry with himself, frightened and anxious about what it all meant. Worried that he wouldn't ever be able to find that feeling everyone else talks about once they find someone they're meant to be with.

The realization she came to left her with an extra space in her heart for him and every Royal who has to wed a stranger and sit with a terrified heart that just wants to find love. Kinsley's trying to find that feeling with him and that's what makes what they're doing even worse.

Caldwell doesn't attempt further conversation and the halls feel like labyrinths despite their straightforward layout. Orange light peeks through the trees and streams through the glass with broken patterns that lead toward Harry's door.

Harry is in the bath, steam rising around him and filling the room with a thin veil. The water is scalding and numbing his body, determined not to miss a spot. He hears the door open, but can't open his mouth to speak. The words won't come out right and Elle will find him in a matter of moments.

She pokes her head in and calls his name.

"I'm here."

His eyes are swollen and feel like they're covered in lead, but the sight of her has not lost it's comfort. "Will you join me?"

He feels like a child. She's the only one who helps just by being around and he's not sure he can handle a night in solitude with his thoughts screaming at him.

Elle is silent as she undresses, her movements slower than usual. She must have been rebuilding the castle with his mother's demands. As miserable as he is, seeing her so worn burns more than the water surrounding him.

Brielle hugs him the moment the water covers her skin and that's all it takes for his thoughts to stumble through his eyes like rain. She's the only person he can cry around without feeling like he's a failure. The only one who won't judge him.

"I'm not meant to be King."

She retracts her arms and runs her hand down his cheek. This is what he was terrified of never experiencing. Every part of her is home.

"Who told you that?"

"I did. All this... _show_...and hollowness...I wasn't meant for it. Any of it."

Elle smiles and her feet knock his as she adjusts to a more comfortable position. "You? The kindest man in the castle? The man who gives the children sweets and talks to his people like they are family?" She shakes her head, " _You_  are the only one made for this. I know it and Alaria knows it.  _You_ will end the misery the crown brings. You were made to shatter the system."

Harry stares at their feet underwater. "All I do is make mistakes."

She takes his hand and he lifts his eyes. Tears are caught in her eyes and they're for him. The spoiled Prince who broke her heart because he thought it would be easier that way.

"We all do. Making mistakes doesn't mean you aren't meant to be King. It makes you the best person for the job."

"How so?"

"You know how to adapt. Can't do that if you don't make mistakes. I know that it's difficult, but you have never been alone. And you won't be."

Brielle kisses him and the flour on her lips makes her lips resemble silk. Despite the turmoil in his head, he laughs as he rests his forehead against hers. "You're covered in flour."

Her laugh is light and full of love. "I didn't have time to wash up."

When he kisses her, their teeth knock against each other and lead to buoyant smiles. "I can help with that."

The candles are half their height and Brielle is resting against his chest, their fingers caught in each other's beneath the cooling water. Harry's thoughts have quelled, but not enough to calm the storm raging inside his heart.

"Elle?"

"Hmm?"

Harry is hesitant, afraid to ask the question he's been thinking about for the last three days. "Is there any...any way that you would..." He's stumbling over every word, trying not to sound like an utter fool. "Would you know if you were pregnant?"

She runs her thumb over his index finger, "There are a few ways, but none that would tell me right now. Would it be horrible if I was?" Her voice is softer than he's ever heard it, weary of his response.

He kisses her shoulder and detaches his fingers to wrap his arms around her stomach and hold her closer. "The absolute opposite. I...it's not the heir that I want, I want a healthy baby to love and take care of. Not the nursemaids, or the servants. And I don't want it to be hers. She..."

Elle places her hand atop his and squeezes. He doesn't have to tell her that Kinsley isn't exactly who he met and that the crown is her priority. She's always been able to hear the words he can't force himself to say and he can't seem to thank her enough.

"I want it to be you. Always wanted it to be you." He won't feel right with himself if it's anyone else. Raising a Kingdom is not the way he wants to raise his children, even if it comes with his title. He will not subject any child of his to the torment he's had to endure.

"What about your mother?"

Harry shakes his head, "Mother can do whatever she desires. I go where you go. Prince or not, you are my Kingdom and I will not abandon you."

Elle shifts and he can see the small bumps dotting her shoulders. "What if I can't give you any children?"

"Then I will just have to love you twice as much." The way she smiles makes him want to be an average person so much more. If he wasn't the Prince they could have so much more without the complications.

Harry drains the bath and wraps Brielle in a towel before doing the same himself. She hugs him again and the stress diminishes to a dull pulse beneath his veins. "Stay with me?"

Brielle hesitates and the crushing weight of the crown settles in again. "What if Kinsley wishes to see you?"

"I'll tell her I'm feeling ill."

The blue in her eyes looks darker and the corners of her lips point toward the floor. "You haven't told her yet."

He tilts his head to the side, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "My thoughts have been...occupied elsewhere. I will tell her, you have my word. Right now, I need to sort out the mess I've created within myself. You don't have to stay, I know this is not easy for you."

The bed is soft beneath him but the sheets don't feel as soft as they have all these years. None of the things he was taught lead up to the reality before him, all the practice just to become a puppet without a soul. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but he knows he doesn't want to become like Kinsley or any of the other Royals he's met so far.

Elle doesn't say anything as she sits beside him, her head falling to his shoulder after a few heartbeats.

"They didn't tell me it would hurt this much. Selling my soul to inanimate objects and people who care so little for others." They didn't tell him that he would have to give up everything to own one thing.

Brielle lifts her head and pushes his damp hair away from his eyes. "I know."

He lies down and pulls her with him, placing a kiss on her forehead after the covers envelop them. "Thank you."

She turns until her right shoulder takes most of her weight, a crescent smile on her lips. "For what?"

Her hair resembles the thick vines that hold up the roses and her eyes remind him of the Gilly river the night they almost escaped the vicious claws of the throne. She is the starlight that guides him and she has never looked so beautiful. "For holding my crown when it is too much to bear."

Tears fill her eyes like glass reflecting the afternoon sun. "I would hold oceans for you, if I could."

"I feel like I'm suffocating. Whenever I have room to breathe, I am to breathe for someone else. Any choice that arises is not a choice, it is a demand without compromise that makes me feel like a corpse inside my own skin. I'm miserable and no one cares."

A floorboard creaks and someone whispers too loudly to go unnoticed. Brielle's eyes are the size of ripened tomatoes. Harry takes her hand. He's tired of hiding her and if his mother already knows it couldn't get much worse.

"Step out of the shadows."

Silence answers and he sighs, "Would you prefer my guards bring you out instead?"

A woman steps out from behind the curtains, a golden wreath of flowers adorning her scalp. There isn't enough light in the room for him to see much of her face, but he can see the glimmer in her dress and the jewels lining her fingers. A Princess.

"Last I recall it is not custom to invade the privacy of the Prince who's Kingdom has welcomed you. What is your name?"

She holds her head upright, stubborn and determined not to show the embarrassment that's rising to her cheeks. "Alden. I am your berothed's maid of honor."

Her brash and confident tone throws him off. For a woman who's just been caught snooping, she's anything but worried. "Would you care to enlighten me as to why you were hidden behind my curtains?"

Brielle is trying to hide her face beneath the blanket.

Alden looks beside him and her expression is less determined. "Brielle, please drop the blanket. You don't have to hide."

Harry's eyebrows pull together as he looks between the two women. "You know each other?"

Brielle's cheeks are brighter than her roses as she clears her throat. "Yes, we met earlier this evening." She attempts a clumsy bow with the blanket pressed against her bosom. "Princess."

"Just Alden. May I have a word?"

"Not until you answer my question. What were you doing behind my curtains?"

Alden shrugs her shoulders, "I was looking for my room and got lost. Heard voices and you walked out before I could make an exit."

"Spare her a moment to dress."

She nods and crosses the room to enter the Princess Suite. Harry caresses her cheek, "It will be alright, Elle."

Brielle shakes her head violently, her eyes becoming a fountain. "She'll tell your mother and send me away."

"I won't let her."

"What will you do?"

"I'll take you away myself. We'll go anywhere you want and none of this will matter."

She looks at her hands and twists the silver ring around her finger. "You won't resent me?"

"Resent you? Elle...I could never resent you."

"I love you."

Harry removes the ring shaped like a rose from his finger and places it on hers. "I love you, too."

Brielle climbs out of bed and adorns her uniform before following Alden into the Princess Suite. Her fingers twist the rose around her finger to calm her nerves but it isn't working and she's sure that Alden can see the way her body trembles.

Alden smiles but it looks more troubled than friendly. "Did he force you to bed?"

She's so surprised by the question that she almost laughs. "Force me? No, he's not that kind of man. He's..." Brielle shrugs her shoulders, unsure of what to call their relationship. "We've been together since we were children."

The way her expression changes reminds her how Harry's mother's changed when she shared her story and asked her to spare her son the heartbreak. "Do you love him?"

Brielle smiles, her eyes falling to her hands again. "More than I love my roses. I know that what we have isn't...proper, but love doesn't follow a crown. I can't help how I feel."

"Does Kinsley know?"

Brielle shakes her head and meets her eyes. "No, and I feel like concubine for keeping it as such. I asked that he tell her, he just needs some time to himself first. All this...ceremony is driving him mad. They are never pleased with him and it breaks him more than anything else as I'm sure you understand in some form or another."

Alden nods, her lips pinched between her fingers. "It will break her if she knows. I understand that love follows no boundaries, but you must give it some. What you two are doing is...blasphemous regardless of the reason. Your secret is safe, but I ask that you love him enough to ease his burden. None of us  _want_  to marry a stranger, but it is what we must do to keep things as they are. We all carry it in different ways, it is just the way it is."

She offers small indication of a nod and nothing more. No wonder he is miserable.

Brielle is shocked when Alden hugs her, the silk of her dress a gentle embrace that smells of a floral fragrance. "Truly, I am sorry."

She removes her arms and wears a discontent smile as she exits. Brielle stares long after she is gone. If she understood, she wouldn't ask it of either of them. "So am I."


	16. Sixteen

Harry groans, his fingers have made another knot that will hold his cape all wrong. The image in front of him is nothing close to the image his father is expecting. As soon as he steps out his father will shake his head to let him know that he's failed again. That he isn't the son he expected.

Footsteps sound like thunder in his ears. Alden appears in the mirror, her crown elegant and less gilded than he imagined. Her cheeks are almost a perfect match to the color of her dress and her hands smooth the fabric even though there are no wrinkles to be found. "Would...would you like some help?"

"Please?" Elle usually helps him, but Kinsley has taken her as one of her ladies in waiting. He could have another servant assist him but he hates having someone help him dress. It makes him feel like a child.

Alden isn't much help, her fingers fumble almost as much as his did but she manages an elegant knot nonetheless. She's looking at him like she wants to say something but doesn't want to push his buttons. The motion of her eyes is hesitant and unfocused.

Harry adjusts his cape and tries to force a smile through his despondency. "If you have a question you may ask. I do not bite."

The question parts her lips and focuses the sky that's taken residence in her eyes. "I...Did you mean what you said last night? To the...to Brielle?"

He doesn't bother to mask the wound she's inflicted with such a simple question. She isn't a noble but that doesn't mean he can't or won't love her. "Of course I did. Why else would I say it?" 

She bites her lip, a look of guilt clouding her eyes. "I'm sorry about last night. I never meant to intrude and what I said to Brielle...well, I shouldn't have said. Much to my displeasure, I know the burden of being bound to another when your heart already belongs to someone else. Your secret is safe."

Something resembling a smile appears at his lips. "Thank you." Despite all the rigorous training, he doesn't know how to frame the relief he feels in knowing that he isn't the only one who is stumbling beneath the weight of the throne.

Brielle's smile feels like lead as she fixes a loose seam near the waist of Kinsley's wedding dress. She's been awake all night thinking about the wedding and how Kinsley will be at his side like she has been sewn into his clothing. Everything inside her feels gray. No matter the truth behind the marriage, seeing Harry with her feels like boulders have made a home inside her body.

Mae had pulled her aside as the sun rose, her voice leaden with regret as she informed her that Kinsley had chosen her to be another one of her ladies in waiting. She attempted to feign a smile and found herself sobbing instead, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing as if the consumption had returned to plague her lungs. The feeling hasn't gone but she's practiced enough to mask it the best that she can.

Kinsley's vocal cords have not tired after three hours of doting on Harry and what a fine pair of rulers they will make. She thanks the servants in between and cheerfully notes the details she has fallen in love with. Brielle's fingers shake faster than the tapping of Kinsley's foot. Every few minutes she turns her head to watch the needle move through the material as if it were water, and every time she observes Brielle like the guards observe prisoners.

"Where did you learn to sew like that?"

Brielle knows better than to meet her eyes. "I learned from the head seamstress here, your Highness."

"How are you with creating dresses?"

"I make all of the Queen's dresses, your Highness."

Kinsley raises an eyebrow, her smile wry and unnerving. "Even the one lined with diamonds?"

She must know the answer already. Brielle pricks her finger and pinches the skin quickly to avoid ruining the dress. There is no time to make another one. "Yes, even the one lined with diamonds, your Highness."

Evelyn pushes a pin too far. Kinsley winces and asks her to be gentle. Brielle finishes repairing the seam and is about to head to the rose garden to finish her bouquet when she makes the demand she's dreaded since she mentioned sewing dresses.

"I want diamonds around the bodice, like those intricate webs of roses in the garden. And the bouquet should have more red than otherwise."

Brielle's shoulders lose their formal posture and she fights off a sigh. "Yes, your Highness."

Although they do not pinch, the diamonds feel like daggers in her fingertips. Kinsley watches her like her life depends on it. For a woman with everything, she doesn't seem secure in her own skin.

The dress is done minutes before the ceremony is to commence. Something awful is gnawing at Brielle's insides, tearing open her organs and making her sick thinking about how Kinsley will react if she ever finds out. The Queen has already said her piece and made it clear the route she must take regardless of the soft spot in her heart. Kinsley is a stranger by every means, no one knows what she is capable of.

Alden has entered the room, her dress a crimson rich enough to rival the roses in Kinsley's bouquet. Kinsley speaks so frequently that she can hardly get a word in and is forced to smile and nod as if she is a doll. She catches Brielle's eye as Kinsley admires her new crown, her smile softens as she mouths an apology.

Brielle's fingers embrace the roses, her smile breaking the clouds surrounding her eyes. Alden isn't as absorbed by the crown as she thought. Brielle will have to thank her before she returns to Tucova.

The grounds are a sea of movement. Guards are stationed three people apart, their battle uniforms gleaming and their weapons steady in their hands. Harry can't be surrounded by a blockade, so the aisles are lined with the guards trained to lead armies. The golden crown on his head gleams in the sunlight, but the light does not travel past the polished metal. He looks miserable. Queen Anne and King Richard wear plastered smiles that look real enough to the crowd, but Brielle knows better. Harry's father is fuming beneath his robes.

She can only imagine the lecture he's going to receive the moment the festivities are over. He won't be able to see her tonight, she's sure of it. The moment they are wed Kinsley will lock him to her arm and never let him leave her sight. Brielle doesn't want to think about what happens next. He is still hers but it is a knife to the heart nonetheless.

Kinsley wears her smile like a second crown as she walks to meet him, pretending that she doesn't notice the disparity in his eyes. A thousand years could pass and Brielle would not be able to wear such a counterfeit smile. She wonders how either of them manage when their entire lives are about appearance.

The bishop drones on for what feels like a century. Harry cannot stand still for the life of him. She's sure that if someone beat him, he would still move as if there were insects in his trousers. Kinsley looks like a painting, infuriatingly immortal and stiff.

Brielle's legs have fallen asleep. With everyone watching, she's stood as still and tall as possible, her attention on the royals although she avoids meeting the eyes of the Prince. She can't bear to see the anguish behind his already crumbling exterior, it has already claimed her heart.

The ceremony is at its end as the bishop asks the crowd if there is anyone who objects to the marriage. Brielle meets the Queen's eyes. A slight shake of the head and a wavering smile. Her opposition will never matter. Tears feel like acid behind her eyelids as she refocuses her eyes on Kinsley's crown, glittering obnoxiously beneath the sun.

Metal shuffles and a murmur rises like a wave through the crowd. Brielle lifts her eyes. Catherine stands in the center of the aisle, her stomach swollen and straining against her dress. She knows the words that will leave Catharine's lips before she opens her mouth.

"I object."

Queen Anne rises to her feet, her crown tilting towards her forehead with the quick movement. "On what grounds?"

She is playing ignorant and Brielle can see right through it. If she knew about their affair, she knew about his other dalliances. Harry's eyes are wide and panicked as they find hers. As much as she wants to be there for him, Catharine's stomach forces her eyes away.

Kinsley looks like she wants to break her crown in pieces and throw them at Catharine.

"That I am with the Prince's child."

A laugh spirals from Kinsley's lips before the Queen can make any judgement of her own. "You must be joking.  _His_  child? There is not a chance."

Catharine is confident, unafraid, as she points to Brielle. "She was there to witness." A wicked smile curls the edges of her lips.

Brielle wants to duck behind the platform and hide herself in the shadows. Now she cannot hide the depressions made in her heart. The entire Kingdom watches her fall apart. "I..." All her attention is on Queen Anne. She's sure that if she looks at Kinsley a diamond will be flung at her eyes. "Yes, your Majesty. I did witness...part of the event by accident. Forgive me, it was not my place to tell."

"Harry! You know better! How could you!?" Kinsley scolds him like a child. Brielle bites her cheek and prays that he will not lose his temper the way he did with Gavril.

The silence is worse than the previous noise. King Richard sighs and waves a dismissive hand. "The wedding will be postponed until there is further proof that the child is my son's."

Harry laughs, the sound is enough to make many in the crowd wince. He is unhinged, pulling at his hair like it is a rope that leads to his sanity. "So I am to marry no one? Fantastic."

Kinsley sinks to the ground, small hands covering her face as she mumbles to herself about what a disaster she has gotten herself into. Catharine is still smiling, triumphant in the midst of the storm she's created.

Harry looks to Brielle, his eyes calming as he exhales a breath burdened with strain. Her lips part and he shakes his head to stop the words before more eyes are on them. She watches with her fingers twisting behind her back as he turns to the hushed crowd. "My sincerest apologies to everyone in attendance. Until the child is proven to be mine, the wedding will not proceed. Thank you for coming. Please enjoy the food and wine."

The crowd erupts. Harry does not listen, his strides a frightening calm amidst the chaos. Brielle's feet move before her mind can catch up. The Queen shakes her head and narrows her eyes, livid. "Do not follow him."

King Richard follows the exchange and keeps to himself. Whatever disappointment and rage he is feeling are being reserved for Harry when all has been settled. Kinsley rises her neck so fast that it almost snaps.

" _You._ " Brielle steps back until she is at the edge of the platform. She wants to hide in her own skin.

Kinsley is less than an inch from her, she can smell her breath and feel the anger radiating from her pores. "You've ruined him!"

She doesn't answer, afraid of her own voice making things worse. Kinsley could order to have her executed right now and she isn't sure that the Queen would deny the option. "Where did he go?"

"I d-don't know, your Highness."

Kinsley slaps her so hard her eardrums vibrate. "Do not play me! Where is he?"

Tears appear from an endless well behind her eyes. "H-he's in t-the treeh-house."

Brielle doesn't think to pull her arm away as Kinsley reaches for her. She is so small, yet her grip feels like iron. "Take me there.  _Now._ "

She stumbles over her feet but Kinsley does not let her fall, determined to get answers from the man that just embarrassed her in front of an entire Kingdom. All the while, Brielle is preparing for the worst. The Queen will not let her stay after the scandal and she will never see the man that overtook the roses in her heart again.

Furious, Kinsley shoves her up the ladder and follows like the wind. Harry is seated in the far right corner, his head on his knees and his knees pressed against his chest.

Brielle pushes the words out before Kinsley can stop her. "I'm so sorry."

"Shut up!"

Harry's eyes fixate on the red splotch on her cheek, rising in the shape of a delicate hand. "You struck her!? What has gotten into you!?"

"Me!? She is a servant! I am not the one who impregnated a whore!"

His eyes are fire and hers are ice. Brielle can feel her pulse in her cheek.

"She is too far along for it to be mine. You do  _not_  lay a hand on her! Ever!"

Kinsley laughs, the sound chilling and unbecoming for a Princess. "Why not? Is she another one of your whores?"

Harry clenches his teeth so hard it looks like they might break. "She is  _not_  a whore. Do not ever call her that."

She turns to Brielle, an amused smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, would you prefer harlot?"

Brielle holds her tongue. Anything she says will only make things worse.

"She is not a harlot, either. Do not speak to me as if you are more important. This is my Kingdom and my castle."

"Then what is she to you? Clearly she is not just a servant."

Harry throws his hands up, "Does it matter, Kinsley?"

"Of course it matters! I am to be your wife!"

"I don't want you to be my wife!"

Kinsley deflates. The anger leaves her body and is replaced with a rain of sorrow. "You...you don't want me?"

Harry covers his face, his rings clinking together. "No, I do not."

"Because of her?"

Brielle can't force her eyes from the floorboards.

"Yes. We do not marry for love, I'm sorry but if given the choice I will always choose her. I cannot help the way I feel."

The anger has quelled to tears and embarrassment. "Why did you pretend?"

Harry shrugs his shoulders. The answer is obvious to him but they are of different worlds, she doesn't have someone like Brielle. "I did not desire to cause you pain."  _Things are difficult enough as they are._

Kinsley wipes her eyes, her composure returning. "What about the pregnant woman? The one carrying your child?"

Brielle speaks for him, the torment he is to endure later will be enough and she does not want to augment it by any means. "She was a mistake."

She nods and releases a deep breath. Brielle is afraid she will strike her again.

"I'm sorry I struck you."

The apology is enough. Brielle nods and forces her feet toward the latch. Harry stops her, his words gentle like the silk of his cape. "Please, stay."

"Your parents are angry."

He shrugs his shoulders, a feeble smile fighting its way to his lips. "When are they not?"

She glances at Kinsley who is pacing the floor while sinking into herself. All hope is gone from her eyes and has left her hollow. "I'm sorry for keeping you shrouded in shadow."

Kinsley doesn't acknowledge the apology. She leaves her crown on the wooden floor as she exits the small structure.

Harry removes his crown and tosses it aside as if it is made of parchment. He never wanted this. Everything is a mess and he has no idea how to right any of it. Elle crosses the room and takes his hand, her head rests against his shoulder. "What do you need?"

He closes his eyes, a deep breath resonates within his chest before it fills the air around them. "You. I just need you."


	17. Seventeen

The wind blows Brielle's hair in her eyes, but she can't be bothered to return the twisted strands to their place. She's been staring into a patchwork gathering of stars for hours, running over the same thoughts and actions she will not take. Kinsley is leaving with the dawn and Catherine will take up a spare room by sunset, her child welcomed to a stolen home founded upon opulence and a lack of empathy. A castle of bones.

Caldwell was nice enough to bring her a meal after he caught sight of her during his rounds. Harry asked him to look, but endless hours of misery have passed in solitude. Brielle wants to believe he hasn't come because he is being forced to sort out a myriad of tangled affairs that pertain to his actions, but she knows better. His father will wait until morning to tear out his roots and let the thoughts boil over from sunrise to the darkest hour of the night. He is vile in his torment. It is a wonder the man hasn't driven his family to seclusion.

A leaf crumbles beneath someone's foot. Harry mumbles a tepid curse as he settles beside her in the soft dirt, worn from all the days they spent hiding from reality. The dizzard has a splintered twig in his bare foot. Brielle almost laughs, a smile peeking through her heartache. "Where are your shoes?"

Harry shrugs, his fingers remove the intrusion as if it were a normal occurrence. "Some ridiculous spot in my chambers."

"Are you mad? What if you injure yourself?"

The fractured twig lands in her hair. "No,  _mother_. I simply did not find them necessary."

Brielle stares at her shoes, unable to reciprocate his attempt at playful banter. The material on her feet is close to the thinness of paper, not fit to be worn in any capacity. He's left his shoes in his chambers to attempt an understanding that he has only ever grazed with the tip of his tongue.

"Are you alright?"

She shakes her head, mute to the words clawing at her vocal cords. Having him beside her is both suffocating and soothing. She's terrified that it will always be like this--that they will always be too far apart to merge into a complete feeling, absent of every encumbering shadow.

"I didn't know."

Brielle takes his hand, his skin is like the summer heat. "I know."

The stars are blurry in his irises, "I could have married you. All these years, I could have had you and they did not tell me."

It would hurt less if he stabbed her.

"W-what?"

Harry laughs, the sound shattered, hollow. "All I had to do was tell them you were with child. If we had...Elle, I could have married you."

A seamless ending is difficult to imagine. With everything between them, it would feel too fabricated; too false. She's dreamed of it enough to trick her mind into believing the false reality. He feels more like hers in these moments when display fades into oblivion and it is just the two of them, trying to navigate their own hearts.

"It would have been different-- _we_  would have been different."

"We would be together."

Brielle adds pressure to his hand, her smile as gentle as the fabric on his shoulders. "Are we not together now?"

Harry rests his head in the space between her collarbone and neck. "I want to give you your fairytale."

"You already have. All I have ever wanted was love."

Tears decorate the cloth surrounding her shoulder, "I fear that I will never be able to love you enough."

Brielle lifts his chin with her finger, forcing him to meet the rivers in her eyes. "And why, would you ever worry about that when love is what you are best at?"

His smile opens a chasm in her chest. "Because I have already lost you."

She kisses him, desperate to break through the shield he has placed in front of his heart. The space between them is still too much and she cannot eliminate the distance herself. Harry does not return her kiss until he can taste her tears as she is pulling away from him. A sob breaks free before she can smother it.

Harry's hands are pressed firm against her cheeks, his lips frantic across her skin. "I'm sorry. Elle, I am  _so_  sorry. Forgive me, I did not mean it.  _Please_  forgive me."

Brielle shakes her head, "That is not it. What do we do now? She will bring the war we are trying to avoid. Kinsley was our chance."

He kisses her so hard she swears she can feel his heartbeat. "We survive like we always do. Me and you."

She has grown tired of surviving. The constant push and pull of politics and relationships is strenuous and demanding and she's not certain how much more of it she can take. Harry is every part of her heart, but there is only so much a single heart can endure, even with the tumultuous aid from the other.

"Is that why you asked if I am with child?"

Harry shakes his head, eyes a size larger than usual. "No! No, I...I asked because I want my first child to be yours--to be  _ours_. And before all of this...it gave me a reason to disappear with you in the midst of a possible war.

"I want it to be ours, too."

Brielle kisses him and offers an apology of her own before leaving him beneath the tree. Being near him is torture and bliss and she cannot handle the battle between the two any longer. He does not ask her to say. She's not sure if he has recognized the skirmish raging in her chest or if he no longer desires her company.

The flames in the hearth reform their hold on the wood with the hours. Brielle watches them devour the logs long after the Kingdom has taken to their beds. She's lost her focus on everything else and torn a hole the size of her fist in the bottom of her dress. Harry's father will tear a hole in his heart so cavernous that it might reconstruct the man who has become her rose. Harry is probably tearing at his roots and creating a disaster in his chambers. And no one cares enough to comfort him, the Lonely Prince always left to his own devices. Were it not for the Queen's increased vigilance, she would be with him, speaking in hushed tones and attempting to revive the flower that is bent on withering and falling to dust.

By the time she has overcome her lingering fear of being caught, the fire has turned to embers, cooling in the pile of ashes. She scribbles a note for her parents followed by an apology that doesn't make much sense but feels right. Gavril passes her at the kitchen entrance. She offers him a smile despite the strain between them but he does not meet her eye.

Brielle wishes he would understand that her heart chooses for her, not Harry. Perhaps then they could be friends again, but she will not let herself hold her breath.

There are more guards in the castle than she has ever seen. They fill the halls in their silver uniforms and silent stares. Harry's room is the worst with twelve guards at every possible angle of intrusion. Brielle's fingers smooth random areas of her skirt, nervous and obvious.

An unfamiliar guard clears his throat, "The Prince desires to be left alone."

"I...you're right. My sincerest apologies."

She turns to leave and Harry's voice forces itself through the dense wood, "Let her in." All twelve guards eye each other. "Please...I...she is the only one I wish to see."

Brielle bites her lip and looks at her shoes, waiting for them to tell him she is only a servant and will be fine. The creak of the door is her only answer. She bows to say thank you and hurries inside the dark room, her hands in front of her in case he has decided to redecorate.

"Harry?"

"I didn't think you would come."

She trips over an empty wine bottle and knocks her head on his bedpost. Harry falls out of bed in his rush to get to her and rolls on his back, a low groan enhancing his misery. Brielle laughs as she offers her hand to help him up. "Have you forgotten how to walk?"

Harry shakes his head, her laughter prompting his own despite his embarrassment. She has always been able to bring out the best in him when he is at his worst. "It seems that I have. Teach me?"

Brielle rolls her eyes and helps him to the bed. His clumsiness returns with a vengeance when he's been drinking. "I think, you've had more than enough lessons as is."

He pulls her down with him, their elbows clashing into each other at unpleasant angles. She doesn't have time to avoid hitting him in certain areas and her knee finds an accidental home in his crotch.

His fingers attempt to form fists on her waist, a whine of discomfort mixing with a groan. "Remind me not to do that again."

Brielle tries not to laugh as she maneuvers off of him and mumbles an apology, her cheeks as hot as flames. "Are you alright?"

Harry shakes his head, a smile failing to be hid in the shadows. "Feels like I've been disemboweled, thank you."

She hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek as if they are still children and he's injured himself chasing her around the castle grounds. "I love you."

This time he does not turn his head and pretend not to hear her. His fingers hold her with enough pressure to leave lasting imprints in their wake. "Please don't leave me..."

He's crying again, his breaths growing shallow and rapid in the span of a few heartbeats. She has never seen him so desperate so...defeated. "I'll do anything...just...please stay, Elle.  _Please_."

Brielle closes her eyes, tears of her own spilling without permission. "I'm not leaving."

"W-what if it's mine?"

"You'll still have me."

His grip loosens but does not vanish, fingertips tracing uneven circles over the fabric of her dress, just above her hip. "What if you are with child?"

"Then it is most certainly  _yours_  and increases my reason to stay. If I can't leave one heart, I will not leave a second."

Brielle removes his hands and kisses him as if he has already turned to ash. "My heart will always belong to you, no matter the circumstance."

He is still crying as his fingers find her lips, tracing them as if he might not ever see them again. "All I do is mess up and break your heart. How can you still want me?"

Brielle kisses the tops of his hands, "You can break my heart every day and it would still belong to you."

"But I make you miserable."

She smiles and kisses him once more, lips lingering far longer than necessary. "You make me feel like the sun."

His eyes trace a line directly to the ring on her finger. "Would you wear purple for me?"

She knew he would ask at some point, but she's never given herself an answer. Never, has she wanted to be Queen. All the children they met in the village always talked about the desire to wear the crown and live in the castle, a fairytale of the grandest design. Brielle has never thought about it that way, all she's ever wanted was a love that would follow her every breath until her last.

He's had to change so much because of his station, because of his crown. It would be selfish of her to reconfigure every detail of his life to live away from the crown.

"I would for you." She's terrified of what it would mean if he found a way to make is possible, but for him, she would bring an ocean down.  
  



	18. Eighteen

A leaden knock on the door wakes them before the sunlight has prodded its warm fingers through the dense curtains. Harry groans and hides his face in the soft down above Brielle's stomach. "Maybe they'll go away if I don't answer."

Brielle hums and lazily drags her fingers through his knotted curls. "No."

Harry curls his fingers in the blanket, his groan muffled by the fabric. Brielle laughs, the sound full of air and coated with sleep. Her fingers leave his hair and pinch his cheek. Keeping his smile beneath the surface proves too difficult as he lifts his hand and pushes her hand aside like children do when their mother's find the need to constantly wipe nonexistent substances from their faces. His neck is starting to feel strained and he rises to a comfortable seated position as he calls back to the guard, voice thick and riddled with cracks. "What is it?"

His thoughts and eyes linger on the woman on the other side of his bed. Brielle looks as soft as she does in his dreams. The sleep has not yet left her eyes as she smiles and wraps her arms around him, her face resting on his shoulder. "Good morning my ill-tempered Prince."

Everything about her is warm. Harry closes his eyes and hums, arms mirroring hers and palms resting above her waist. "Good morning, my culver...my Queen." She is sunlight and fire, and he cannot imagine the life he would have led without her by his side.

She smiles into his shoulder, lungs rising and deflating alongside his own. If the guard was not at the door, he would believe he was still dreaming.

"The King has sent for you and Brielle immediately."

Harry's fingers run through the fabric of Brielle's dress. A sigh interrupts the dream he was reconstructing. "We are not dressed. Tell him to wait."

The guard hesitates, his voice a low rumble through the door. "He won't be happy."

"He never is."

Brielle waits until his footsteps have receded to pull away and run a hand through her own hair, forcing him to acknowledge the day has begun. He's staring at the fullness of her lips and the sleep that clings to her eyes like morning dew. She catches him and smiles, a rose colored hue teases her cheeks. "What?"

Harry shrugs, a smile of his own peeking through his grogginess. Brielle's lips rise, a bashful smile alongside a sunset of blush. She tells him that he's full of it as she climbs out of bed and stretches to awaken her limbs. He could spend a thousand mornings with her and never tire of the lazy waves trapped in her eyes, or the faint pops that release themselves from her bones as she stretches to welcome the day.

"And  _you_  are full of wonders."

Brielle raises her arms above her head, her dress shifting to reveal a hole the size of his fist. Harry's eyebrows pull together as his eyes follow the sluggish movement of the faded fabric. "What happened to your dress?"

Her fingers trace the boundary of missing fabric, "I lost my head worrying about you. When my mind righted itself there was a loose thread between my fingers and a hole in my dress."

Harry frowns and pulls at the hem of his shirt, "I didn't intend to worry you."

She pauses her search for her corset and smiles at him, "I know."

He's across the room before she can ask for help. The night's events aren't lost on him and he finds the corset with ease, fingers hesitant to return the garment to her. "Let me replace it."

Brielle hesitates and traces the lines of her corset. Harry has attempted to present her with a number of nice dresses as gifts, but each time she has declined. He still doesn't understand why, there has never been an excess of jewels or fine silks...perhaps it was the color.

The summer afternoon sky rests in her eyes, "Your parents will notice. Will it not make things worse?"

She raises a valid point, but he cannot bring himself to fret over what his parents think any longer. Their thoughts are gilded with gold and dappled with rubies, nothing has ever been able to dilute their crowns, embedded in every tissue and trapped inside every bone. He is only a scratch upon the surface, forever an ugly mark for everyone to see. A nuisance.

He searches through his wardrobe and retrieves the white shirt she made for him three springs prior. Brielle watches as he pulls the fabric over his shoulders, a smile cutting through the melancholy that surrounds her.

"What my parents think does not concern me. I will not stay inside their shadow any longer."

She does not have an answer for him and he does not know what he wants to hear. His thoughts are a tangled net with no clear solution. "Might I show you? If you do not wish to wear it, I will not be dismayed."

The dress he pulls from the armoire in the Princess Suite is a deep shade of green reminiscent of evergreens. There are no gems or fine embroidery and Brielle is quick to accept, her eyes alight like the taverns that ring with laughter and cheers, deep in the night. Her kiss lingers, heavy and sweet against his lips as they walk through the halls, fingers together as if the world is not watching.

Whispers fill his ears, their incessant buzzing a nuisance that is ignited the moment his presence is known. Brielle walks closer to him despite the eyes watching, her hand squeezes his and he kisses her cheek. He can feel her heartbeat pulsating in her wrist, fighting to break the surface and the regal mask she's adopted for the occasion.

Four guards stand outside the Throne Room, not one of their faces is familiar. Word of any further attacks have not made it to his ears for weeks. His father is either scared or decided to hire a new guard while the old is sent out to scout. Or war has started and once again he has been left behind on the battlefield.

Tremors flow from Brielle's hand to his own. Harry raises his hand to halt the opening of the doors and turns to face the woman who has always kept him warm. His hand leaves hers and both rest on her cheeks as his lips find hers and a tidal wave of warmth and buried feelings flows between them. His mouth tells her all the things his words have failed to capture and shares every ounce of warmth she has given him. Today he will be  _her_  anchor.

Brielle's oxygen depletes seconds before his own, her forehead rests against his and reminds him of the swans that frequent the lake near the western edge of the castle. He traces the edge of her jaw before dropping his fingers to her hand. She watches him with a faint remnant of a smile as he brings her hand to his lips and lets his lips linger. The guards shift and someone clears their throat. Harry nods and forces his fingers to remain still as the door swings open, revealing his parents dressed too formally for the occasion, crowns firmly in place atop their heads. Regal and boiling beneath their own seas of imported fabrics.

The disappointment on his father's face has not wavered since they spoke three fortnights prior while they were discussing rising tensions and his delayed marriage. Harry lifts his chin as he's been taught, a stubborn clench closing the gap between his teeth as Richard begins his pejorative speech.

"The Kingdom runs wild with news of your imprudent actions. You are foolhardy and insolent and your actions have sparked a war between our allies. Have you any idea what you have generated inside this Kingdom? How much discontent you have sown into the hearts of Alaria? You have single-handedly shredded Alaria's reputation."

Anne sits bathed in silence, her head moving with a slight tilt to acknowledge the accusations Richard throws at him, pointed lances aiming for his heart and anything that would deem him weak and unworthy.

Laughter springs from Harry's throat, a horrible sound that is lower than any laugh he has ever released. There is a twitch in his mother's left eye. "Do you honestly believe that I am the source of the sieges and discontent within our boundaries? Yes, I have tarnished  _my_  name with my indiscretions, but I am by no means the cause of discontent among our people. When was the last time you went into the square? Spoken with anyone under our reign and treated them as parts of our world? I speak with them every week unless I am away. Do you even know ten names? Ten  _faces_  outside of these walls?"

He has never seen his father's complexion so red. Richard diverts his attention to Brielle, "And this one. What have you to say for her? You claim a servant as your own and she shows no ounce of shame! She meets our eyes with confidence and speaks as if she was borne to our household. You," his finger a wavering line directed at Brielle, "are a disgrace! A plague sent to our family."

Time does not register and his sight vanishes as if he has been struck in the back of the head. Richard's eyes are wide, his body pressed to the back of his chair. Harry blinks to refocus the anger in his head. His hands are wound in the collar of Richard's shirt, pulling so hard that the back is suffocating his neck and fighting to rip free.

"Do not speak of her in that manner! She is not the dirt beneath your feet and she is not a disease! So help me God, if you speak of her like that again I will construct a Kingdom of my own and burn yours to the ground."

"Harold!"

His stare is verging on manic as he twists his head toward his mother, " _What!?_ "

She looks like she wants to vomit and set him ablaze all in the same breath. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

Another laugh and a crude twist in his jaw. "Royalty, has gotten into me,  _mother_. I am sick of it. All this splendor, and for what? Misery? Repression? Wealth? What good is any of it if you cannot enjoy the simple pleasure of being alive?"

Richard is not listening and constructs a narrative of his own, "Then what are you doing?"

Harry releases the fabric and takes two steps back. The words have been on his tongue since he was twelve years old. "Figuring out what works because you fail to teach me, opting for insults over education. That child is not mine, she is too far along. I will wait and honor the code, but after the child is born and proven to be of other origins, I am marrying Brielle and there is no compromise. I marry her or I leave."

Brielle allows him his moment and laces her fingers with his the moment he reaches for her hand. They are three steps from the door when Richard decides he has not yet lost the war.

"Prove your worth."

Harry turns around so fast Brielle's wrist twists at an odd angle. "Excuse me?"

"Earn the crown on your head. Then you may marry whomever you desire."

Brielle's fingers wrap around his bicep, a vice that begs to slow him but makes little difference. An emerald falls out of Harry's crown and skids across the floor as the crown bounces and rakes the surface, metallic clangs adding to the building tension. "Your wish is my command. Name your task."

An iniquitous smile corrupts Richard's expression, "A duel between you and six of the best guards. In the training yard, high noon."

Harry's head inclines toward the left, a smile of his own turning into a sneer. "Done."

His head is too full of shattered images and pools of boiling anger and he fails to watch his pace. Brielle is all but running to keep up with him and keep the strain from her wrist. She says something and it is washed out, all syllables fail to break through the storm his mind is sending through his body.

Brielle stops following him, his body jolts to a delayed stop. The sky has shattered and released waves of rain that fall in suspended currents. "Harry...please stop." A whisper, quiet enough to caress his ears and alleviate the rage that threatens to consume him the longer he lets it build.

All the air is expelled from his lungs. Harry releases her wrist and stares at his hands, still wrought with rage and aching to connect with something in a violent upheaval that will leave a lasting mark. The throne has transformed him into a monster that he no longer knows how to control.

"I...forgive me, I don't know what..."

She takes his hand, a smile breaking through the worry filling her veins. "It's all right. Do you want to be alone?"

Harry shakes his head. "No...I...I just need to leave the castle walls. Will you come to the house with me?"

Brielle and the house he built for her are the only solid things in his life. Everything he does inside the castle walls feels like a farce. Even breathing feels forced, there is no solace to be found in a foreign palace. Home is beyond the walls, a fairy tale that he has yet to grasp, a woman he hasn't let consume him the way she's let him consume her.

She nods and he follows her like duck chicks follow their mother. The anger fades, but lies dormant in his veins. Many things that the King does do not fall kindly on his ears, but calling Brielle a plague sent him into a rage he never knew he was capable of. He is afraid of himself and the strength with which anger consumes him.

He is too far into his own head to notice that Brielle has taken him in the entire opposite direction. The trees are sparse and the ground beneath his feet is too soft. "Elle, where are we going?"

She slows her pace and turns just enough to let him catch the corners of her smile. "A surprise, of course."

Her smile is contagious and he pouts to mask the joy returning to his senses. "What if I don't want a surprise?"

Brielle laughs, "Then you will just have to accept it anyway because we are here."

She's brought him to the lake they snuck off to when they were teenagers. He only brought her here a few times before and the last time it left her disappointed. He's surprised she remembers the way and brought him here rather than the home they have just begun to build.

"They won't look for us here."

The water is filling his shoes before he realizes they're still walking. His feet stop before he wills them to, the mud sinks with his weight. "Elle, what are you doing?"

Laughter as light as the breeze fills his ears as she turns and tugs on his hand, urging him further. "Cooling off! I don't think you've quite simmered down yet."

He does not budge. Brielle rolls her eyes and drops his hand, continuing her descent into the lake without a moment's hesitation. The water is too cold for it to be comfortable and her skin has risen in a sheet of dots, yet she does not seem bothered.

"Are you mad!?"

A half-moon smile, "No, but  _you_  are! Let it go! Come swim with me!"

She breathes in deep and disappears beneath the surface headfirst. Harry sighs and follows after her, the water chilling his bones and removing a large chunk of exterior aggravation as if it were made of snow. Brielle was right, the weight standing upon his shoulders has lessened and he feels more like himself than he has in months.

He surfaces after she does and she makes quick work of the water, pushing it out with her hands until it scatters on his face. The laugh that follows sounds just like it did when she was fourteen and pretending she still did not want his kiss.

Daylight passes too quickly. He has no idea how long they spend in the water before they are staring at the clouds and pretending that they have been living their fairy tale all along. The strange thing is that his mind is blank, a tabula rasa without interference or destructive knowledge. There is just the woman beside him and the anomaly she induces in his chest.

And she, is a miracle brought to flesh. A guardian sent to him when he did not deserve one.

Brielle's lips are against his skin, sunlight on his neck and the underside of his jaw. He's been trapped in his head for so long he didn't see her move. The air cannot fill his lungs fast enough. A sound passes his lips that is intended to be her name, but it sounds like too many vowels and she laughs, her smile pure bliss although he cannot see it.

She is on top of him, hands beneath his shirt, her heartbeat transferring to his and accelerating the pulse far more than it ever has. He makes no move to stop her, reveling in her embrace and picturing a life where they do not have to hide or fight their way to the ending they have promised each other over every discovered continent and all the seas on the earth.

This time he tells her he loves her, fingertips embedded in her hips and lips attached to hers, desperate to transfer the feeling he has never been able to describe the way he wants to. In the overgrown grass beneath the bluebell sky, he relinquishes the crown's hold over his heart and transfers every last lace vein to Brielle.

He is still repeating three words as they return to the castle, clothes damp and hearts aflame. The challenge his father issued is the last thing on his mind. Defeat no longer carries any weight that can do him harm.

As the sun reaches its eternal throne, he greets his father with a smile absent of malice. He is caught of guard and surveys the area, seeking a crowd that he has not called for: a crowd that will not come.

Caldwell is among the six men Richard has deemed as the best guards in their service. Gavril stands to his right, an arrogant hint of a smile evident the moment Harry meets his eyes. The other four he does not recognize. Brielle is picking at her dress again, worried about his safety more than his triumph.

Harry takes her hand in his and kisses her slow, long enough to stop her worries and ease his own nerves. "You are my choice. You will  _always_  be my choice."

A stream of tears breaks free, "Try to be kind to Caldwell."

He laughs and kisses her once more, "Of course."

Richard is tired of waiting and calls formation before he can stall any longer. Caldwell strikes first not to show favorites but he uses a move that he's trained Harry for and it is deflected as quickly as it is executed. The four nameless men have been trained well and aim for his legs to lessen his mobility. One of them lands a blow to the back of his left knee, pushing him down but allowing him more leverage with more space for his arms. Gavril fights without code, aiming everywhere with the purpose to leave a lasting injury. He moves the wrong way and Gavril strikes his jaw. Harry cannot remember what happens next. A feeling consumes him and removes his vision, guided by training and rage he strikes in blind furry and loses all control of his limbs.

When he regains control of his body, he is in the medical wing. Brielle is sitting by his bed, her hands running over the words from a book he recognizes but can't recall the name of. "Elle?"

The book closes sharply and her hand is pushing his hair from his face. "Welcome back, champion."

"Champion?"

Brielle nods, her smile wider than he has ever seen it before. "You won. Your father nearly lost his head! He stormed off like there was a council waiting in the Throne Room, mumbling to himself with a face as red as your most vibrant paint!"

Every word he has ever learned does not suffice for the swell in his chest, the rapid pulse outpacing a drum line in his chest. Brielle is finally his, no restraints and no compromise.

"Do you still have the ring?"

Brielle smile is bashful as she pulls a silver chain from beneath her dress, the ring he gave her the perfect centerpiece. She releases the chain and hands him the ring made from the celestial sphere itself.

Harry has to fight his nerves to keep his hands from trembling as he slides the smooth metal over her finger. "Our fairytale awaits."


	19. Ninteeen

Brielle's fingers are numb against the harp's strings. She has not yet mastered the delicacy needed to produce the soothing sounds Harry adores. His laughter reverberates deep in her chest as his hands rest atop hers, tracing over her fingers like each contains a masterpiece. "They are not much different from your roses, love."

The muscles in her face react with confusion, her eyes narrow alongside the scrunch of her nose. " _That_  is where you are wrong. Have you ever felt a rose with such rigid edges?"

Harry presses his lips to her neck, his smile igniting lanterns beneath her skin. " _N_ o, but the petals are just as delicate as the strings, and just as beautiful."

She hums, her body welcoming his embrace as if his body is part of her own. "I will have to re-train my fingers to share the sentiment. Perhaps you will teach me?"

"Of course, but you will have to teach me how to tend the roses."

Brielle weaves her fingers through his, a wave of warmth flooding through her veins. "You are already quite good at that."

An unfamiliar guard walks through the open doorway. His dark eyes shift between the two of them, unsure of where to rest them without being inappropriate. They settle on the sunlit windows as he addresses Harry, "The Council requires your presence in the Throne Room, your Highness."

Brielle is not accustomed or comfortable with the weight of masked observation and detaches herself, her cheeks a brightening pink. Tension snakes into Harry's smile and she cannot will herself to ignore it. This time it has nothing to do with his lineage. She allows her fingers to drift to the soft material of her dress that she cannot seem to grow comfortable in. Harry insists that she wear something above the obscenely rough texture, but she likes her old dresses. The dresses he's given her are simple but they are still far too nice and she is afraid that she will never be able to conform to even a small level of luxury.

Harry tells the guard that he will head there shortly and allows the heightened silence to force his exit before he steps toward her and reclaims her hands. His smile is no longer strained, "We will have to finish this lesson later, perhaps in our home? I would like to make it a proper home, not just the intent of one." The green in his eyes is replaced by stars as he swings their hands between them, a childish habit that still retains its grasp. "And...I thought it would be pleasant if we were to have dinner there and spend the night within its walls."

A dream she's had every night since he spoke reality and showed her the home she never thought she would have. She is certain the constellations in her eyes have given her answer away before her voice can bring the words to life, "I would love to."

Harry kisses her, the tip of his tongue running over her lips. Something about the open door and the possibility of onlookers makes her feel like she is fourteen again with the desire to return his affections overruling all sense of caution. She welcomes him as quickly as she allows the memory to paint a scene behind her closed eyes. Time stops all measurement until her lungs strain to force the oxygen through her chest. Brielle's body becomes part of the sun as he smiles.

"Until tonight, culver."

His lips do not leave her thoughts for hours, a gentle melody that refuses to lose its hold. The ring on her finger is a strange kind of comfort despite the promise it holds. No one outside of the castle knows of their planned engagement. Catherine is still expecting and if word of another affair spreads, the King is certain it will escalate the increasing rates of violence. Harry disagrees, but his parents wear bigger crowns.

Catherine's stomach feels like a rock as she intentionally bumps into Brielle. She is too caught up in conversation with herself to react fast enough to avoid losing her balance entirely.

"Watch where you're going, harlot." The curl of her lips is anything but hidden.

Brielle can feel her pulse burning in her palms. Her eyes struggle to match her determined composure. "I was." Catherine is not royalty and she does not feel an ounce of shame in speaking to her this way. She has been nothing but horrible since the moment they met.

Her eyes do not leave Brielle's hand as she picks herself up. Something dark washes over her features and draws out her serpentine smile. "Who did you steal that from?"

If she bites down any harder her teeth will shatter. "It was given to me."

"By whom?"

Brielle cannot resist the roll of her eyes. "Does it matter, Catherine? It's my ring."

Catherine laughs and the sound reminds her of the shrill screeches swords make as they slide against one another. "Do you really expect anyone to believe that?"

"No, because I am not seeking to be believed, nor am I seeking approval from anyone else." She cannot think over the roaring pulsation of her heart in her ears as she walks away.

"He claimed me first!"

The statement does nothing to affect her love for Harry. He makes mistakes just like everyone else. "Love is not concentrated in physical action alone, Catherine. Although, I suppose you would not know."

It does not matter who he claimed first. Regardless of whether or not the child is his, she loves him and her heart cannot stop the way it beats for him.

Nevertheless, the thought of Catherine having his first child is imprinted in her mind and refuses to vacate. What will life be like if it is his? The web they have trapped themselves in is not made of diamonds and steel and they are not unbreakable.

The market square is full of people, the noise and the smell of baked goods distracts her from all thought of Catharine. A little girl tugs on her dress as Brielle is determining which vegetable would go best with the dinner she has in mind. Harry loves all of them but he has always been peculiar about the pairing and he will make a face like a child if she happens to choose the wrong one.

"Where's Prince Harry?"

Brielle smiles, her eyes drifting toward the castle. "He is at home, planning to be a great King."

The girl's brown eyes are alight with the joy only a child possesses, "Are you going to be his Queen?"

She cannot help the parting of her lips. Harry is always around the children whenever he steps out from behind stone walls to converse with his people, has he spoken of her?

The smile she offers does little to hide the blush rising to her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

She looks up at Brielle like the answer is obvious. Her smile is hesitant to take up half her face as she returns her gaze to her shoes, "He looks at you like my mommy and daddy look at each other. And he talks about you a lot."

Brielle's tongue struggles to form the proper answer. There are so many things she wants to say and so many things that she shouldn't. "He does?"

"Mmmhmm! He says you like flowers, too!"

"Well, he's certainly right. I love flowers! What is your name?"

The girl's fingers pull at her dress, her eyes wander everywhere before they stabilize on Brielle. She mutters so low that Brielle nearly misses her name."My name is Evelyn."

She removes the rose from her ear and bends her knees to place it in Evelyn's hair. "Well, Evelyn, I will make sure he brings extra sweets for you the next time he visits."

Evelyn hugs her and runs off to join her friends. Brielle twists her ring around her finger, her smile threatens to encompass the sun. Harry has always been sweet, but she never thought he would share his desires with anyone outside of the castle walls. And here he's been, bringing children sweets and speaking of her as if she is made of roses.

She is so swept in the thought of him that she begins to see him around every corner. It is as if he has followed her and kept himself in the shadows. The thought is both flattering and frightening. When she sees him again she looks harder, determined to overrule her mind and settle back into reality. He does not dissipate as false images do, but instead ducks into an alleyway. There was something different about his face...and his eyes didn't look right either.

Brielle looks around to see if anyone else has noticed the presence of the Prince. A commotion has not begun and conversation drifts just the same as it does on any other average day. Perhaps he is playing games again. He always enjoyed surprising her outside the castle walls, playing a game of hide and seek within the shadows and the crowds that adored him too much to give up his presence if he asked it of them.

The smile she wears is somewhere between playful and flirtatious as she approaches the corner she saw him duck behind. "It would seem old tricks do not fade so easily. How did you manage to slip away from the council?"

Shadows have grown thick enough to claim the alleyways and she can no longer see any form resembling another human. "Harry?"

"Harry isn't here."

Brielle's mind does not process the danger fast enough. Her feet turn to head in the direction of the street the moment someone grabs her arm and yanks her further into the ally. The vice is enough to make her scream, but the sound is muffled by another hand the moment it breaks the air. She can't think past screaming and fear has paralyzed everything she has ever learned about fighting to protect herself.

Tears burn her cheeks like acidic fruit making contact with an open cut. Her lungs scream with her vocal chords and ache with the strain of trying to be heard. Something in her wrist pops and gives her the gumption to bite the hand covering her mouth.

"You little--"

A man has come to her rescue but she can't make out his face through her tears. Grunts and blows are exchanged with the frequency of oxygen intake, each strike violent but not accentuated by the sound of a carefully crafted weapon. Brielle tries to force her limbs to run, to escape the shadows and find safety in the crowd just outside, but she is shaking too much to leave the wall she moved to the moment her attacker lost his grip.

Her lungs have just regained a normal intake of oxygen when the struggle comes to an end.

"Don't you ever lay a hand on her again or the Prince will have your head."

Caldwell. Harry must have sent him for her the moment impatience settled in his bones. She watches him tie the man's hands and haul him to his feet. He drags him into the square and in the light she can see that he looks nothing like Harry.

A hand is waving in front of her face. Brielle blinks hard, her eyes roaming the space surrounding them. Caldwell is wiggling his fingers inches from her nose.

"Elle?"

The man he bound is nowhere in sight, probably dragged to the castle to sit before the throne. She nearly knocks him over in her rapid attempt to hug him. Caldwell does not shove her off, his hand smoothing her hair to ease the nerves bursting in panic under her skin.

"He will not touch you ever again. Are you alright?"

She shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. Nothing has ever terrified her so much and she has no idea how to restrain her emotions and calm the rush of adrenaline surging through her body.

Harry is screaming when they walk through the gates. She can hear him from the dungeons, cursing and threatening the man's life. He is a man she would not want to anger and she cannot imagine what has gone on since her attacker made it inside the castle.

The sun is asleep by the time he is finished and there are three new holes in her dress. Harry meets her in the kitchen instead of their home, his hair leaning in every direction and knuckles turning a rusty brown.

His lips are all over her face, sloppy and wet as they create a new map of desperate affection. He is saying something that she cannot understand, a jumble of syllables that make up a new language.

Brielle pushes him away after a few minutes, tired of the wet feel of his lips and the unintelligible words falling from his vocal cords. "Harry...English please."

His face is in her neck and she can feel his pout. "It was my fault."

She forces his head up and takes his hands, "What is your fault?"

Harry will not look at her, his eyes trapped in the shape of her ring. "They tried to take you because of me."

What he's saying follows no logical pattern. He cannot be the sole reason a stranger would try to take her against her will. Who could he have angered in Alaria? Everyone loves him on one level or another and he has never had any known enemies within the Kingdom.

"What do you mean? No one here harbors any ill intent toward you except your parents. If it is you they are after, why take me?"

"I have plenty of enemies. They are after my throne, not me. A while ago I received a note that warned me to give up the crown or lose my lover, I ignored it thinking..." He starts pulling at his roots again, his stress remedy when he cannot paint, "thinking...I don't know. It is all my fault and now they want me to meet with them or they will try to take you until they succeed. What do I do, Elle?"

She kisses his hand, her mind pacing itself in retrieving information and making sense of it all. "Do what you think best. Have you not been training for moments like these all your life?"

Harry shakes his head and finally meets her eyes, "I have not been taught how to balance love and a throne. You changed the design and I do not know how to give up what is mine."

"Then do not give up either."

He kisses her with enough force to leave a bruise. She is left with the echo of his determined strides.


	20. Twenty

"Get up." Harry's boot collides with the aging metal bars and sends vibrations through the dense structure.

The prisoner's ears twitch in time with the rapid rise of his shoulders and spike in his heartbeat. Every bone in his body rattles in time with the abused metal, the acerbic tone of the Prince's voice sears his eardrums and roots his feet to the glacial floor.

The man inside remains curled into himself, his bones pressed against the dank stone floor. An infantile sound crawls through the silence.

"Are you deaf? Get up."

He does not move. Rage reignites the forest fire inside Harry's irises and consumes what little control he holds over his actions, leaving him wild--impulsive. Thunder surges through the foundation as the cell door berates the adjacent wall. Fueled by untamed instinct, Harry grabs the the man by his collar and hoists him to his feet. "I suggest you follow orders if you value your head."

Disoriented and weak, he stumbles over his feet and forces his body to march as if it is not broken. The Prince pays no attention and shoves him between his shoulders when his pace falters. An uncountable number of guards surrounds them, anxious to calm the commotion and assure the safety of the temperamental Prince.

Harry adjusts his crown and scowls with an intensity that rivals the crudest expression his father is capable of and sends spears into the hearts of his men. "I do not require supervision."

Harry musters no reply, the interaction only furthers his umbrage. "Leave and do not follow me. Anyone who disregards my order will be tried for treason."

Men disperse like frightened geese. Harry's jaw is under so much pressure it wants to dislocate. The horses in the stable tramp the ground anxious in the wake of the storm that is approaching.

The edge of his jaw could slice skin. Harry's eyes melt into the blackness of night, drained of their vibrant color and filled with a rage he has never before possessed. His scowl is so ardent it elicits the vein in his neck to breach the surface and demonstrate his venomous pulse. "You will take me to the man who sent you. If you try to run or deceive me, my sword will replace your tongue."

His crown is no longer burdensome as he mounts his mare. The sword at his hip is dormant, waiting for its first opportunity to slice into a stranger and bathe in foreign blood. If Caldwell has not been following Brielle, the man under his glare could have had his way with her. A pyre would suit him better.

Harry allows his anger to deplete in response to the steady clip of horseshoes against the chirps and ticks of the nocturnal insects. Alaria is near sleep's warm embrace. Lanterns are surrounded by the depth of midnight's shadow as others are extinguished. He wonders what it's like to be inside the village, under a small roof without ornate trinkets decorating every blank space. Brielle's voice is in his head, describing the life she wants with him inside a house of their own, a house outside of the castle. The memory soothes the irritant that plagues his mind. He will have to stop and pick some pink flowers for her upon his return.

"Are you always this cruel?"

The crown atop his head glitters in the moonlight, its reflection a fragmented pattern inside the shadow of his horse. "Cruel is one thing I am not."

Ahead of him, the nameless man scoffs and throws a humorless smile over his shoulder. "Tell that to my bruises. Perhaps they will believe you."

The temptation to unsheathe his sword makes his fingers itch and fidget against the reins. "How much further?"

"Another bend."

Harry entertains the thought of dragging the man behind the horses if he decides to swindle him. "There is nothing but trees ahead."

He watches the man's shoulders rise and fall as he laughs and directs his horse closer to the treeline. "So you think."

The horses are forced to slow inside the thicket to avoid the trees. Harry is not accustomed to navigating such dense terrain without the aid of the sun, and is abused by low hanging branches. Curses vacate his lungs with a vivacious intensity that would apall his multitude of acquaintances.

"We are here."

Harry dismounts and secures his mare with his eyes shifting between the nameless man and the degrading cottage surrounded by silence. "Why are there no lanterns in the windows?"

The man turns his head so Harry can see his annoyed expression. "Light does not conceal what wants to be hidden."

Harry's nerves are anxious against the currents of quiescent anger that rest beneath the surface. He left without even the hint of a script for a meeting with a man who tried to kidnap Brielle. A stranger who can easily overpower him with enough men. "You first."

"Of course,  _your_   _Highness_."

Rotten, the door swings open with a maddening groan that is sure to alert anyone in the surrounding area. Faded orange flickers wash away the thick tendrils of darkness and reveal a lone man sitting at a table, his hands folded comfortably and a disturbing smile upon his lips.

"Brother! It is so wonderful to meet face to face!"

"Brother?" Harry takes a step closer, his eyes adjusting to the feeble lighting. Every quality he thought belonged to himself and no other is right in front of him right down to the jaw. Everything but the color of his eyes and the slopes of his cheekbones. "Who are you?"

Discordant laughter rattles his eardrums, "I see they haven't told you. Sit, we have a lot to discuss."

Harry refuses to equate himself with a criminal and remains standing. "Who are you?"

"You don't see the resemblance? Pity. My name is Aylwin, Richard's bastard son."

Richard's son. The sack of wine does everything in his power to make him feel worthless and has an illegitimate child.

"You don't look surprised?"

Harry scoffs, "That is because I am not. Stop with the small talk. Why did you attempt to take Brielle?"

Aylwin shifts in his chair and punctuates the broiling silence. "I warned you twice. You gave me the invitation when you did not heed my warning or fulfill my request. How is it that you do not understand politics at this point in your life?"

There are a lot of things he does not understand. The world does not easily lend itself to those who inhabit it and politics have never interested him much--too much conflict and unnecessary bloodshed. "Conflict plays too heavy a role in politics, I prefer to win my battles without massacre. What role does Brielle play in the scheme of wanting my throne? She holds no viable lineage."

Aylwin laughs again and Harry reaches for his sword, his barbaric nature forcing its way to his throat. "Brother, do not reach for your sword. Are we not of like mind? Love and politics do not mix. I had to take her, you gave me no choice. It appears warfare and discontent do not capture your attention." The pigment in his eyes reminds Harry of coal blacksmiths use. " As to the matter of the throne, I would prefer to do this peacefully, so let's discuss before you do anything rash with that sword."

His fingers twitch against the hilt, contemplative. The last year has raised a tumultuous wave of doubt and indecision inside him and Aylwin has prodded it further, drawing it out from its hiding place and forcing its attention. A sigh permeates the air as he sits in front of his brother with both hands folded, "I'm listening."

"You can't marry her and wear the crown. I want to solve your problem in a way that will help us both. The attacks will lessen without provocation and you will be able to marry--what was her name again?--Brielle. If you renounce the crown and transfer your duties to me, everyone gets what they want."

Except Richard. Aylwin is not prepared to rule a Kingdom nor has he been trained for any position of stature. Handing him the throne would be laughable. "You understand, of course, that what you are asking is not a simple transfer of power? I cannot simply  _give_  you my crown."

Harry refrains from biting his lip as his foot begins to tap the floor in a trepidatious rhythm. For a man who knows what he wants, Aylwin knows little about the consequences. Does he really want to live in an encumbering shadow?

_Brielle is sitting on his bed, fingers caught in her dress as she watches his brush sweep across canvas. "Do you show anyone else your paintings?"_

_Her fingers are pulling at her lip, eyes alight with a curiosity that never seems to fade. Every day, she looks at him like she is meeting him for the first time. And each day he is drawn to her the way the clouds are drawn to the sky. She is a bellibone worthy of the stars._

_Harry shakes his head, "Just you. No one else knows."_

_She removes her fingers and pulls her bottom lip in with her teeth, an attempt to disguise the pout he knows is there. He can see the question move her lips before she articulates a single syllable. "Why not? You're brilliant beyond words."_

_Blues swirl together without effort, balancing themselves with white as they collide. He can't remember if this looks like, but it_ _feels_ _right. Brielle waits patiently, her blue eyes unintentionally piercing his back._

_His lips twitch and morph into a learned smile he hates. "They would make me quit. Painting is not for Kings."_

_She is frowning but he cannot force himself to look. He promised her they would be together and the guilt tearing at his insides, a rabid beast determined to break free and demolish the only thing he loves--the only person he loves. Servants are not meant for Kings, even if it is the sole thing the King desires._

_"That is nonsense."_

_It is._

_Harry cannot will the brush to move. "Father says it is tradition."_

_Brielle does not say a word. The silence forces the brush against canvas, measured strokes that ruin the soft power of the waves. Harry opens his mouth seven times, each time the words he has come up with do not feel quite right._

_"You won't become like him...will you?"_

_He wants to tell her that he won't, that he will be everything but what his father is. That his crown will not dictate his actions, but he can't give her that either because he is always at war with himself and what he wants. "I do not plan to."_

_The bell for the kitchen rings and Brielle removes herself from the bed. She strains her toes to kiss his cheek, "You are fine as you are, regardless of your crown."_

"It can be arranged."

Harry traces the rings adorning his fingers, "Why do you want to be King?"

"Only a fool would not want a throne."

Power. Aylwin will burn Alaria to the ground and wear the embers in his crown. "I have terms."

Aylwin wears the devil's grin, triumph burning in his irises. "As would anyone, dear brother."

Brother sounds anything but endearing. Harry wants to ask who his mother is and decides it is better not to know. "I want my festivals and taxation system to remain intact. Alaria is part of me and I want my people to be respected and treated fairly, I will not pass my throne to a dictator."

"Consider it done. Do we have an accord?"

Harry shakes his hand, a trained smile pulling at his cheeks. "We have an accord." For now. Before he leaves, he imitates Aylwin's smile, "Oh, and one more thing, brother." Three rings and five knuckles collide with Aylwin's jaw. "Attempt to take her again and I will disembowel you."

Catharine meets him at the stables, her stomach bulging like ripe fruit. She smiles and leans against the frame of the door, nearly toppling over. "You're home late."

His mare whinnies the moment he sees the ripe apple in his palm. "You did well, thank you."

"Pardon?"

Harry sighs, "I was speaking to the horse. What do you want Catharine? Have you not already made your point?"

He tells himself she is too far along and that the child cannot be his as she rubs her hand over her belly. "Do you not remember what we shared? The passion? The love?"

Catherine is a mistake he wishes he had not made. She is anything but likeable and trapped him on a whim. "We shared nothing but lust and the wedding you ruined."

"Oh please, you had no desire to marry her."

Harry does not argue. Catherine rushes to keep with his pace, "You don't really love that servant either."

He stops so quickly she walks right past him. "She has a name. And you know nothing of my heart. What do you want, Catherine?"

She takes too much time to slow her blink and reach for his arm. "I want you to see the truth. This baby is yours and I do not believe for a second that it was conceived only from lust."

The conviction in her eyes drips through the cracks in his armor. Conviction mingles with doubt and halts all parts of his body. "Even...even if it is mine, it was all lust, Catharine. I have loved Brielle before I comprehended what it meant to love someone else. She is the only woman I care for. You were a mistake that I chose to make. It is as simple as that. If the child is mine, I will care for it, but you will never hold my heart the way she does. You or anyone else."

Catharine does not follow him to his chambers. He thanks the guards outside the door and stares at the wall. What has he let himself come to? What kind of King does not know himself?

A vase shatters against the wall. Something of an animalistic sound tears through his vocal cords as his foot connects with the foot of his bed. Objects deteriorate and manifest themselves in colors that swim before his eyes without pattern. Feathers are stuck between his fingers and the lanterns have all but extinguished themselves. Harry stares at his hands, dried blood against his knuckles and ruined white feathers.

The room is too quiet, he can hear his heartbeat. "Elle?"

He waits a full five minutes before the loneliness settles into the air. Brielle has been in his chambers every night for the last week and a half. The guards have not seen her and the rest of the castle is asleep. Harry wanders the grounds twice before he remembers which new building is hers.

All the nerves in his hand scream as his knuckles rasp on the door. Impatient, he taps the wood until the door swings in. June rubs her eyes and stifles a yawn, "Harry? What are you--"

Brielle materializes behind June, her hand on her shoulder. "Mum, why don't you go back to bed?" June nods and kisses her daughter's cheek and retreats to her bedroom. The look on Brielle's face is not one he's known many times, but it brings shameful heat to his cheeks. "Have you any idea what hour it is?"

"I--"

"Why are you here, Harry? I needed you and you left me. You left me with a bruising kiss and nothing else and you expect me to be in your chambers? Did your mare kick your skull?"

Harry can't look her in the eyes. "I was trying to defend your honor."

Brielle scoffs and forces his attention to refocus. She is angry, but this is a different angry that strangles his heart and dries her eyes. "Beating a man senseless is not defending my honor. Do you realize you have been treating me the same as he?"

His eyebrows pull together, mirroring his thoughts. "Elle...I do not understand..."

"Catherine ruined your wedding and you forget that I, too, am a person. I am not another jewel to place upon your crown. For Christ's sake Harry." Tears break the crystalline surface and slide down her cheeks, "You were the one who told me I was not just a servant, and  _you_  are the one treating me like I am. Just--go away, Harry."

Brielle slams the door, the wood smacks his nose and sends pain through the entire front of his face. Harry leans his head against the rough surface and calls her name. No answer. Nose still pressed against the door, he slumps to the ground and scrapes his nails against the dirt until he cannot feel his fingers.


	21. Twenty-One

The birds are not singing outside Brielle's window when she awakes. Harry has spent the night on the ground, propped up against the side of the house. He's tearing the skin around his fingers: all ten are covered in ugly shades of red. Brielle spares only a moment to look him over on her way to the kitchens. His hair is parted in at least seven different directions, bruise colored crescents line the creases of his eyes, his feet are bare and covered in dirt that makes them look two shades darker, and his clothes are wrinkled in every imaginable angle. She would think him a commoner if she did not know him to be the crowned Prince.

Pity swells inside her bosom and she refuses to let it consume her anger. Prince or not, he will not earn her compassion this time. She is not a marionette to be played with and tossed aside when she is no longer of value or pleasure.

Harry has fallen into a river of molten gold and trapped himself inside the mold of power that he's scuffled with for the moment his importance was made known. The first taste of potent puissance provoked the internal transformation that is manifesting incrementally and reconstructing the constellation she's marveled at her entire life. Brielle is afraid one day she will no longer be able to look at the sky she adores.

Muted footsteps trail behind her until she makes it to the kitchens. Gasps resound around the small room before transforming to whispers that are not light in sound. Harry is silent, following Brielle around and handing her things she doesn't need. He's trying to help, but he is so out of place that each breath pains her.

Brielle bites her cheek and turns on her heel. He hasn't bothered to fix his appearance or adopt his crown. The words on her tongue simmer upon meeting his despondent gaze. She sighs and folds her arms over her chest to resist the temptation to scatter kisses upon his cheeks. "What are you doing, Harry?"

Grimy fingers run through his hair and shed small clouds of dirt, "To be frank, I'm not entirely sure. I...I want to help."

He is only making matters worse. "You're not supposed to be down here."

Sunlight creeps to his lips, tugging them upward. "When has that stopped me?"

_Brielle stifles a scream as her sight is eclipsed. Harry's familiar voice is at her ear, "Shh love, it's just me."_

_He removes his hands and places them on her hips as he spins her around. "I missed you, today. Is this where you've been hiding?"_

_The color in his irises reminds her of the strange shade of celadon the sea takes up when the sun is embraced by the clouds and saving her heat for summer. She can live every day trapped in the gentle pigment of Harry's eyes and never tire of seeing the sky._

_Brielle is having trouble looking away from his lips, bitten over so much their color could match up to the roses. He hasn't shaved and as strange as it makes his face look when it's growing, now that it's grown in he looks like he came straight from Greece. And his crown...she's always felt it looked pompous but today...today it looks like he makes the oceans follow the movement of his hand. She bites her lip and draws her eyes to the silver necklace that disappears beneath his shirt. "It is impossible to hide from you."_

_Harry leans his forehead against hers, "How is it...that you can look so beautiful, even with flour coating your cheeks?"_

_She is too slow to answer and her teeth clash against his as she smiles. He is a cloud in trousers and she is the wind that shapes the fields of light, summer snow. Harry's crown slips forward and taps her forehead. His hands leave her waist. Brielle watches as he removes his crown, turning the cool metal in his hands and contemplating something that even she cannot extract. A field of sunlight appears in his eyes and travels toward his lips._

_"What is trapped inside your head?"_

_He situates his crown on her head. The metal frame is too large and tilts toward her heels at a strange angle. "Only you, my Queen."_

Brielle bites her cheek, all responses foreign on her tongue. The servants are still whispering, speaking of their affair and placing horrible images on her and painting him as a saint. They don't know the map that has unfolded between them but nevertheless protect Harry from the reaction he is just as due.

Someone new is bold enough to risk her tongue, "Are the linens too nice for your romps?"

Brielle ignores the comment, willing her cheeks to behave themselves lest her emotions become overwhelming. She turns her back and begins working on bread for the evening's dinner. There are too many things to be done to sit around and gossip like school children.

Harry follows her movements, silent and observant as if he is partaking in another lesson. She cannot comprehend what it must have been like to be subjected to constant teaching and grooming for twenty years. Brielle is daunted by the thought of how incompatible her life will become after Catherine has her child.

A glance to her left entices a laugh to dance in the silence. Harry's dough embraces his fingers like an unwelcome leech. "You need more flour."

The sticky mess refuses to release its hold and a nonplussed crease appears at the center of his forehead. Brielle observes the slow, miscalculated strain he creates as he experiments. Weary green eyes plead for acknowledgement and reach for oceans they have failed to comprehend. "What if I am incapable of attaining said flour?"

Brielle dips her hands in the bag of dust and covers his hands with her own. "All you have to do is ask." Seeking help through inquiries is a trait the crown has neglected to teach him. Harry has been raised to believe he is equal to the divine and value is a foreign tongue that fails to reach his ears.

He stares at the mess left upon his hands, embers of disillusionment resting within his cheeks. "I am not confident I possess the wherewithal to seek from others what I cannot find in myself."

"Perhaps you require more lessons."

Harry's lips pull toward his left cheek, a forlorn smile he cannot mask. "Perhaps you could teach me? Between the two of us, you have always known best."

She has never known best. Everything in his world is the opposite of hers and has been since the moment she was born. He only sees what he wants to, the rest is all imagination outside of his control. The only decisions she has ever known to make are those that pull at the sinews of her heart and beat at her lungs until she cannot breathe. She knows how to love him.

Brielle lingers by the oven, watching the yeast as if it will rise faster under her gaze. "I know only what I have learned. May we speak tonight? Somewhere with less focused ears?"

"Of course, you decide the time and place and I will be there."

Sapphire eyes search the room and discover the inaudible eagerness hinging upon an uncomplicated discourse. Harry's attention remains affixed to her figure the way statues watch the sky.

Vines climb her arteries and embrace her heart with voluptuous blossoms of tender indecision. Brielle steps toward him, eliminating enough distance to speak for his ears alone, "Our home, after supper this evening."

Harry is a ghost for the remainder of the day, keeping to his chambers or one of his secret places where his crown is not welcome. Brielle cannot recall the last time he separated himself from the crown and became part of the castle.

Catherine becomes her silhouette, her expression pleading for acknowledgement of unanswered questions about the Prince she's desperate to steal. Her presence is heavier than anticipated and it takes every ounce of Brielle's willpower to ignore the swell that announces itself the moment Catherine enters a room. According to the midwife, the child will arrive with the first blooms of spring. The color of the child's eyes consumes Brielle's thoughts, forcing a constructed image to persistently rest inside the soft tissue protected by her skull. Looking at Harry and his enchanting green eyes is rapidly falling to anguish with each passing sunrise. He is withering beneath the rain of fire and water is mountains away. Strange how time braids relationships and ensnares them in a catastrophe that is all but easy to navigate.

Phantoms roam the halls, dressed in people with plastered smiles and empty eyes. Words fail to break the imperceptible fortress built by the insufferable ego of King Richard the moment his son bested him. Brielle avoids every scattered heartbeat, each breath imprisoning the air in her lungs until the pressure forces her lips to part and expel the thorns from her chest.

"Perhaps your corset was bound with a heavy hand."

Gavril's voice elicits a dry itch in the back of her throat. Bruises fester beneath her skin, aching with the heightened rhythm of her heart. "The corset is not the cause of my staggered breathing."

The hall is devoid of all moment and his voice fills her ears like the roar of cannonfire. "Is he still the man your heart desires?"

Brielle's eyes warm with the onset of tears. "The matter is not of your concern."

"It is Alaria's concern. Word travels faster than men sent off to battle. Without word from the Royal family, Alaria waits with the polished glimmer of gems in their eyes."

Another servant overhears their conversation and slows her walk, rifling through the sheets as if she does not know they are all there.

Saliva pools at the back of her throat in a disagreeable mass. Alaria should not know, the King made it very clear to keep any news relating to the Prince sealed within the castle walls. "The Prince's marriage has not yet been determined." Brielle directs her attention to the servant. She does not recognize the maiden's small frame nor her blue eyes. "I can assure you the linens are all present."

The maiden's eyes grow two sizes as a jumbled apology fights to leave her throat.

Gavril's lips pull together and roll in on themselves as he shakes his head. "He has already changed you."

Brielle's fingers hesitate to find the seam in her dress sleeve. "Have you ever wondered who you would be if your mind did not fixate on Harry? Yes, he is important in my life, but he is not the one who decides how I am to act. I am part of myself before I am part of him, and I am the only one who changes myself."

She leaves him in the empty corridor, a bitter taste upon her tongue. Gavril has no business in her affairs, regardless of his position or his interest. He is trapped in a dense web of heartbroken bitterness tethered to another man and, as much as she wants to help, he has spoken to her with such venom that she no longer desires to reach for him.

The castle bustles with an inconsistent hum as the evening's meal is prepared. Harry's presence is so little his own parents do not see it a necessity to acknowledge him in any form of conversation. Brielle glances at him every time she is called to clear plates or bring in another meal. He looks like he took a trip to death's cottage and crawled back to the castle. Paint clings to his fingers, a new skin to replace the old pallour from years of remaining hidden from the sun within the confines of the castle. Absent, is the gleaming crown that has remained stationary above his brow since the age of twelve.

King Richard takes notice of her gaze, a pitiless grin overtaking his lips. "Harold? Do you believe it necessary to behave as a peasant in light of your engagement with one?"

Queen Anne's jaw ceases to continue function, holding itself firmly in place as her hand wavers before her goblet. The fluctuating movement of her chest demonstrates her discomfort despite the lack of words parting her lips.

Brielle holds her chin as high as she can manage, eyes centered on Harry. He behaves as if he has not heard the jibe, pulling apart a roll with languid fingers and drifting concentration. She wants to demonstrate the triumphs of living on the scraps of others that Richard lacks, but she is constrained by the lessons she has learned from watching his household crumble in its foundation.

"Why do you insist on being a lout? What harm has she done to you other than remove another line of corrupted lineage? She is more human than you could ever be capable of and as my betrothed I exhort you to treat her as such or lead a Kingdom without an heir."

"Harold!"

Exhausted, Harry sighs and lifts his eyes to meet his mother's. "I am part of this Kingdom as much as you are and neither of you bother to acknowledge my crown despite the fact that it arose from yours. Allow me to exercise my reign or it will cease to exist regardless of your interests."

Festering silence overtakes the hall. The servants are unsure of whether or not to clear the table or remain in place until one of the Royals directs them otherwise. Having said his piece and lost his appetite, Harry rises from his seat and exits with the stiff posture of paintings in his limbs. With thirty eyes on him, he stops to place a chaste kiss to Brielle's cheek, "He will offer no apology, but you have mine."

He is waiting inside their home with sunsets leaking from the windows when she arrives coated in starlight. "I understand that you do not wish to hear further apologies, but I will not be able to sleep if I do not make one on account of my actions. I have treated you poorly and there is no excuse for my behavior." Tremors consume his hands before he can force them shut and conceal them from her, "But I desire to be better. For you and for myself. What my father said...I do not want to become callous and cruel under the crown. I do not want to be like him or to make anyone feel the way he has made me feel."

Brielle crosses the room and takes his hands in her own, a tender smile on her lips. "You are not so far gone. Your father...he is part of you but you are separate and of your own design. I do not seek to change you, just to love you without all the finery...without the influence of the crown."

Harry's right hand raises to caress her cheek, "Heaven has never crafted an Angel so divine. I have done nothing to deserve you."

"Love is not of a deserving kind. It is cultivated like everything else and it falters as do most things, but it can be mended all the same. I am sorry to have left you in such a state, it was unkind."

A labyrinth opens in his eyes, his lips drawing her in like children drawn to laughter. Brielle does not register the three words he mutters as his lips attach to hers, their willful slowness igniting bursts of color beneath her skin. The room blurs and ceases to exist beneath the weight of his fingertips and the soft curve of his lips.

Brielle's face is half hidden by the down inside the pillow, her eyes luminescent with an indescribable light. Harry is facing her on the opposite side of the bed a contented smile overtaking the melancholy shadow in his eyes. "Soon we shall have an heir."

Laughter springs from her chest, "You are mad! I am nowhere near such a state."

Harry shrugs his shoulders, smile bursting with energy. "Has the midwife confirmed?"

A simple shake of the head does nothing to deter his determination, "I have not seen the midwife. My mother advised I wait at least three fortnights and she is well learned in the matter."

The blanket is removed and Harry's hands are atop her stomach, bleeding warmth into her skin and imagining a heartbeat that may not exist. "Until there is such confirmation, I shall content myself in thinking such fairytales are true."


	22. Twenty-Two

Decay from the rotten building coats Harry's nostrils and forces his nose to retreat toward his eyebrows. "Must you insist upon arranging these...meetings under such conditions?"

A grin creeps its way to Aylwin's cheeks as he watches Harry's hesitant movements. "I was led to believe you were not weary of such circumstances."

Hesitation cripples his throat, "The circumstance does not bother me, rather it is the conditions. How am I to relinquish my crown to a man who cannot be bothered to seek a more...dignified place of meeting?" Abandoned buildings reeking of death are not suitable for anyone, let alone a Prince. How can a man construct a war from skeletons and expect a victory?

"Would you prefer to meet in the open? Where your people can overhear your betrayal?"

A sigh parts Harry's lips like draperies, "Get to the point, Aylwin."

Shadows dance around Aylwin's muddied irises, "Display is not what we agreed to, brother, but it seems to be all you are capable of."

Thoughts run in insidious circles behind Harry's eyebrows, drawing his crown towards his nose. "Pardon? My  _display_? Have I become a pheasant whilst we have been conversing?"

Crooked laughter scrapes the walls and forces a wince to settle upon Harry's countenance. Richard would be proud of the replica he's created: a puppet with all the strings. Aylwin rises and begins pacing the room. "I suggest you stop playing children's games, Harry. We have an accord and you are failing to act upon it in favor of showing Alaria that you can love one of them. Fooling them into believing that they are your equals when they are are the foundation to your throne. Locking yourself within the castle walls does not make the rest of the world invisible, nor does it satiate the needs of the hungry. You are stalling."

The dull thump of Aylwin's boots matches the pulse beneath Harry's chest. His first attempt to force Harry's hand was certainly more impactful than pacing around a damp room. "I cannot force a child to enter the world and Kingdom's do not dissolve overnight, brother. If you expected to be King within a fortnight you are sorely mistaken. What needs to happen within those walls takes patience, which you seem to lack. Expect your throne, but remember it is on  _my_  terms."

Metal hisses as it escapes it's sheath and lunges for Harry's throat. "Do you honestly believe you hold the power over our accord?  _You_ , the Crown's disappointment?"

Laughter rumbles deep in his chest, "Flowers."

Aylwin pauses, relinquishing the pressure holding his sword in place. He searches the bare room with the confused fervor of animals being hunted. Finding nothing, he drives the sword into his neck and draws a thin line of blood. "What are you on about?"

Dust envelopes the inadequate room as Caldwell and two other guards rush to Harry's aid. The sun draws the corners of his lips toward her, "Flowers, they're quite lovely things and magnificent code words." One forceful shove sends Aylwin's sword clattering against the far wall. Harry's sword remains idle in its holster, desperate to leap toward the pulsating vein in his neck. With all his men out of commission, he has no choice but to surrender. "Who holds the power again, brother? I can't seem to recall."

Aylwin replies with vengeful sneer and charcoal eyes. Harry raises his left hand, signalling the guards to release the battered men. "Challenge me again and I will have your head."

Motes float in frenzied circles between Harry's condensed shadow and the afternoon sun leaking through the open doorway. Caldwell is beside him with the speed of exhaled breath, matching his strides despite his shorter stature and struggling to maintain the uproar bubbling in his throat.

"Chide me for the rest of my life, Caldwell, but you do not comprehend the entirety of the situation at hand."

"Does she know?"

The exhale his nostrils produce is lacking all confidence, yet he cannot force himself to assemble any sort of armor to push his friend away. "No, I want to be sure of my actions before I inform her. She has taken on too much strain on my behalf and I have no desire to inflict more suffering within her heart."

Birds spring from their roosts upon their approach, springing into the sky like misdirected lightning.

_Brielle's feet propel her through the trees with the twisted patterns of wild vines. "You'll have to be faster than that if you desire to maintain possession of your drawings!"_

_She filters through the trees, embraced by sunlight and summer leaves. Harry can hardly keep up, his obnoxious shoes strike every surfaced root and entrenched rock in his path. Even nature adores her._

_His voice breaks the wind with scattered intensity."And what if the drawings are not what I am after?"_

_The leaves halt their defeated crunching. He's lost sight of Brielle. "Elle?"_

_Troubled, he stops and forces his ears to listen. A bird's wings bend the air in startled bursts. Harry bites the left corner of his bottom lip, eyes roaming every inch of the vast forest for a purple ribbon._

_Brielle rests against the thick trunk of an Oak tree, her lungs straining to pull in oxygen without emitting winded gasps. "What else would you be after?"_

_She turns her head too far and her ribbon pokes out from behind the tree. Harry's boots move over the leaves like earthquakes, "A girl who has stolen something that is still in my possession."_

_Cranberries color her cheeks, "How is it in your possession if she has stolen it?"_

_Faded moonlight resides in his smile as his feet rest among the fallen leaves. "It is rather difficult to explain, but I can show you."_

_Apprehensive, Brielle pinches a faded patch of her dress. "Will you allow me to keep a few drawings?"_

_Harry laughs, the sound bright and the richest it has ever been. "I planned to leave them in your possession the moment you took them."_

_She leaves the sanctuary of the tree with and meets him where he stands, his bound book of sketches grasped tightly between her fingers. The edges of her lips are timidly reaching for the sun, "What have I stolen that you still possess?"_

_"Quite a few things, if I'm honest. May I have your hand?"_

_The embers in her cheeks burst into flames, "Are you trying to trick me into marrying you?"_

_His left hand raises to his chest, "Me? I would never!"_

_Butterflies float through her lips and find homes in his eardrums. She presents her hand and fails to refrain from nervous laughter. "You are too foolish for your own good."_

_With her hand in his, Harry places her palm just to the left of the center of his chest. "That may be so, but I am your fool. Can you feel that?"_

_Brielle nods, her hand relaxing atop the gentle fabric of his tunic. Harry slots his fingers between hers, "You took that before I was capable of understanding what it meant. And then..." He leans forward, his lips a mere moment away from hers, "Then you took my breath and every ounce of thought within my brain without the slightest remorse. I do not believe you intend to give them back, my sweet culver."_

_Their lips meet and the perfumed summer air steals their breath. He pulls away too quickly and Brielle draws him right back, her smile overtaking his own. "I will keep yours if you will keep mine."_

_"I think we have an accord."_

_Unable to help herself, she kisses him once more. "We have an accord."_

Harry sighs and watches the silent scrutiny of the leaves. "I want to do right by her."

Caldwell adjusts his armor, clanking every which way without much regard. He wonders what it's like to just be rather than existing under someone else.

"Have you done anything in your life for yourself, Harry?"

The answer does not come to his lips as easily as it should. "Little. Brielle keeps all that I have otherwise I would not possess anything of my own. Do you know what it is like to drown in your own skin? Because I have been drowning since I first understood what it meant."

Voices grow like weeds, "My father beat me every day and told me that I was a worthless son, destined to fail and lead the family to ruin. The only time I was of benefit to him was when I worked the fields after everyone else had retired for the night. When I left, he did not bother to search for me, and when I returned in a full suit of royal armor, he embraced me like I had always been part of the family he so carefully crafted. I wanted to remove his tongue. Instead I settled for his favorite beating: lashing and a brand over the heart to mark failure." The laugh that permeates the air resembles a scoff. "Try burning. Drowning is nothing."

Intolerable silence festers in the space between them. Caldwell watches the clouds while Harry chews his words until a sentence that makes sense forces itself through his lips. "Do you think Brielle is being distant with me?"

"Do you want my honest opinion or the one you want to hear?"

"Honest. I have grown tired of tall tales."

Caldwell meets his eyes, "Yes, she is. As of late, you have become a man that none of us knows. What happened with that man frightened her and Catharine has not made transitioning easy."

Trapped in a bubbling sphere of emotion, he cannot control the confusion radiating through his features. "Transitioning?"

A scoff obliterates the flight of swallows fighting to break free from his chest. He's missed something of terrible significance and Caldwell is all too quick to call him out, "Are you really unaware of how different her life is from yours? After twenty-four years of growing up with her serving  _your_  family?"

He's noticed, but he hasn't paid as much attention to detail as everyone else has. Brielle has always been his equal, no matter the circumstances provided by society. She's the rose to his thorn and she always has been. "To be truthful, I have not heeded caste in the matter. When you grow up with someone, they are part of you as much as you are part of them, the other things cease to gain relevance. She has only ever been Brielle in my eyes, and I have not yet grasped the ability to see her as anything different. My parents detest the very notion of it, but I have not been able to comprehend why love cannot transcend class. Are you aware that my mother once loved a commoner in almost the same fashion? Even so, she looks as me as if I am a plague upon the family line. I understand that royals do not marry for love, but what I do not understand is why it has to be that way. Men and women cannot choose who they love: it simply happens. I want to love her without the crown."

"And renouncing your throne is the answer?"

"Uncertainty rules over those who fear failure. I would rather be with the woman I love than live under a dissatisfied crown."

Caldwell exhales through his nostrils, nodding fondly at a couple passing by. "Are you dissatisfied or is it your parents?"

Harry's laugh is laced with melancholy "Both. If given the choice, I would disassemble this reign and make peace among the other nations. A crown is not worth the misery it provides."

"Perhaps it is not the crown, but the owner."

"You may be right."

Cumbersome thoughts berate Harry for the the remainder of the journey toward the castle. Townspeople filter through his vision like sand falling through loose clothing. His crown feels tight around his skull and the never ending jolts provided by the horse do not help the tempest spreading from his thoughts and traveling through his brain.

Guards rush to open the gates and return the horses to the stable. Someone to his left bows far too low and informs him that his parents seek his audience in the great hall. Desperate to avoid the confrontation, he leads his mare to the stables himself, taking extra time to provide her with treats and brush her coat.

Hollow footsteps decorate his entrance. The only sign of movement either of his parents produce is concentrated in blinks and the meditative fluctuation constructed by their lungs. Harry raises his chin, defiantly observing a painting of a forest devoid of all life.

"You will meet our eyes or you will lose the privilege you think you possess."

With the pace of a snail, he complies, the corner of his mouth twitching with an arrogant smile. "And what would that privilege be, father?"

Richard glares with the intensity of lanterns during the darkest hour of the night. "Brielle. You may have bested the guards, but you have not bested me. What do you expect to happen if Catherine's child is of your origin? Do you comprehend the consequences of your rash actions?"

"I comprehend that you are not an appeasible man and cannot maintain the lineage without me on the throne. Brielle is a person, she is not a privilege. If Catherine's child belongs to me, I will provide for it, but by no means will I take her as a bride. We had an accord and you  _will_  honor it unless you want a fruitless throne."

Anne's stony expression falls to concern, "You cannot possibly think of such a thing! Who will replace you, my only son?"

Harry savors the taste of silence and watches Richard attempting to hide the twitches in his fingers by fidgeting with his rings. The glaciers in his eyes hold no hope of melting as they meet the soft gray of his mother's, "Ask him."

Better to force Richard's hand than to disembowel him with the potency of his secret. The castle holds an eerie silence that clings to his skin, an unwanted guest. All the servants are absent, probably on behalf of his parents and the lack of presence makes him feel like the lonely child left to his own devices again.

Moonlight entices his thoughts and draws him to the rose garden. Brielle does not make an appearance as he seats himself among the soft blooms and removes his crown. 


	23. Twenty-Three

Gossip taints the gentle breeze and rustles the variegated vermillions, peachy oranges, and daffodil yellows that thrive inside the palace gardens. Brielle closes her eyes and inhales the sweet perfume of the roses, the gentle fragrance calming the lightning racing through her nerves. The dwindling traces of violence have only provided small solace against the imminent arrival of Catherine's child. Alaria waits with eager breath, torn between belief of whether the child belongs to Harry or if the child was a clever ploy to ruin the wedding and gain privilege within the castle walls. Only a small number consider the possibility of both options proving to be true.

King Richard refuses all comment and broods in his study day and night while the Queen tries her best to provide her people with a decent story to mask the bedlam sprouting from the birth of a single child. When she is not roaming the halls, she is locked in her chambers, contemplating methods to correct the shifting politics beneath the crown. And Harry...he's gained the tendency to venture off on his own and return at strange hours, always with the same detached countenance. Brielle has not seen him since he rode through the gates the previous morning with Caldwell and four other guards.

"I was wondering if you would come." Harry's voice struggles to thread itself through the tangle of thorns. He must be sitting somewhere amongst the flowers, but Brielle is too short to see over their blooms and the garden has grown with them.

She pokes her head around a corner near the pathway leading straight through the center of the ocean of color. "Where are you?"

"To your left, by the brightest red ones."

Brielle finds him cross-legged in the dirt, admiring the roses as if they are made of something from the heavens. Knees aching from scrubbing the grand hall, she sits beside him, drawn to the same tranquility that has transfixed him.

"I believe I understand why you are so attached to them. They are beautiful and the only corruption capable of withering is the weather. And yet, they will always return if taken care of in the proper manner."

"And what if I just like them because they are pretty?"

Harry's lips hardly make an effort to smile, "You? Never." Booted feet march by in formation for a drill neither of them can remember the name of. "Have you ever felt like you are two seperate people at war with one another?"

Brielle searches for his hand and slots her fingers through his, "Quite often. But I imagine most people feel the same at some point in their lives. You are not alone, no matter how deeply you feel that you are."

Violins creep through the courtyard, somber in tone and tempo. Queen Anne is caught in another mood, encouraging the feeling with anything that will feed the emotion controlling her brain. She avoids moving forward by clinging to the moment as much as she can. Harry shares a similar quality, drowning himself in the potency of isolation and melancholy and forgetting to look for the small but uplifting joys that permeate every day existence. Everything falls to pieces the outcome is not one he was expecting.

She lays her head against his shoulder, his heartbeat faint beneath the black tunic. "What happened to your crown?"

Abrupt laughter sinks deep within Harry's throat. "Amongst the roses someplace or other. I can't quite recall."

"Why is that?"

_Brielle runs toward Harry, her smile stretching like the horizon. "Harry!"_

_He ignores her, stalking toward the roses with his hands balled up at his sides. Blistering sunlight makes the crown on his head look like white fire._

_Small rocks pinch her feet between the worn fabric of her shoes and force her feet to stumble over one another. Harry is too far away still so she decides to yell, her smile as glaring as the shine on his crown. "Do you want to go to the lake and play?"_

_Harry does not turn to as he does on every other occasion. A cloud passes overhead and steals half of her smile. Nevertheless, she continues trying to reach him, "You got your crown today! How pretty!"_

_"It is not pretty. I hate it."_

_"Why do you hate it?"_

_Metal collides with solid ground and a volcano of dirt erupts in the rose garden. "It changes forms whenever it wants to."_

_Brielle reaches for the dusted crown, her eyes alight with wonder, "Your crown is magic!?"_

_Harry snatches it from her hands, a cruel expression reaching from his eyes to his mouth. "Don't be daft. Magic is not real and neither are fairy tales."_

_Rivers drift from her eyes to her toes, her lips trembling as they fight to hold onto a fleeting smile. "You don't have to be mean."_

_She runs away as the words are battling each other for syllables. Mae frowns and drops her gardening tools. Harry's eyes are focused on the direction of Brielle's footprints._

_"Now what did you say to upset that pretty little girl?"_

_The crown is dense between his hands, its fine metal resembling the rings his parents wear on their fingers like religious relics. He doesn't understand why he has to wear it or why it must be silver while theirs are made of pure gold. Is he not important, too? "I told her fairy tales are not real." Silver collides with a budding group of roses near his feet, "But I didn't mean it and now I made her cry."_

_Mae's lips roll inwardly and linger in a strange expression on the left side of her face. Her knees crack as she bends them to retrieve his crown and place it atop his head. "What's done is done, but she is kind and knows you well. Now, why don't you apologize and make her smile again? She hasn't gone very far beyond that corner."_

_Tormented by the thought of Brielle's tears, he drags his feet in shame and follows the path he watched her take when she ran away from him. Inside his chest, flocks of birds beat their wings, furious with him and desperate to push him forward. Elle is where Mae said she would be, hands trembling in her lap and tears cascading down her cheeks as if they too are desperate to feel something different._

_"I'm sorry."_

_Brielle pouts and kicks his foot, "Go away."_

_"Elle...I didn't mean it."_

_She doesn't answer and stares at her feet as hard as she can manage to avoid forgiving him like she always does. He sits beside her and twists his fingers impatiently. "Please look at me."_

_"No." She looks at him anyway, her pout collapsing into a smile. Harry removes the crown and places it atop her smaller head. The frame is too big and falls forward to cover the tops of her eyes. Brielle laughs and a few more tears escape her eyes, "It's too big."_

_"It will fit later, when you are Queen."_

Harry stands and pulls Brielle to her feet, "I did not wish to wear it today. Will you walk with me?"

The castle lingers behind tall oak trees and their rich canopies. Children burst from the foliage, stumbling over hidden twigs and ancient roots as they continue a game of Blind Man's Bluff. A muffled rhyme about the Golden King follows their lithe movements and vanishes with their laughter.

"Do you remember the first time you told me that you thought I was the Golden King?"

"I do, and for your records, I still believe you are. And it looks like Alaria is in my favor. Have you been into town lately? The whispers have become truths that draw people toward your reign."

His eyes search the trees and follow an empty sigh, "That is what I fear the most. What if I cannot live up to their expectations? What if I am not the King they think I will be?"

Brielle smiles and swings their hands, "You are already the King they are waiting for. The King they  _love_. Yes, things have not gone as you have expected, but it does not mean disaster resides within your crown."

An ocean of pink flowers surrounds the forest floor and lines the path to their vacant home. Crowns and Kingdoms steal Harry's attention and leave emotions to wither under their shadows. Cobwebs swallow the essence of memory that decorates the walls, claiming the space as their own. "If we are going to speak here, I want to stay here for more than a night of embraces. Speak of memory all you desire, but in here is where memory begins again. Please inform me of what is going on without fretting over your crown."

Harry leads her inside and presses the door against the frame until it creaks under his weight. "I don't know what to do, Elle. All I can think about is that bloody crown and what it means to be wearing it, who I am without it. And then there's Aylwin--"

"Aylwin? Is he another Prince I have not heard about?"

His hands move in quick directions, unsure of where they want to place themselves. Oxygen does not travel fast enough to his lungs and the words escape in rapid bursts. "He is Richard's bastard son and my brother. All he wants is the throne and I told him that we had an accord but I do not know where I stand myself. I hate everything I am supposed to be and I cannot escape who I have been made to be. And all I seem to do is upset everyone, especially you."

When she does not answer panic entraps him, forcing his strides farther apart and his breaths to linger in short bursts. "Have I soiled our relationship for the last time?"

A great number of thoughts force themselves upon her eyelids in brief glimpses of memories, Harry's crown is present in every image. The relationship between them is a tempest at best, but it is a tempest she has not found the strength to walk away from. "No, but if you insist on keeping secrets from me I am not certain how much longer I can forgive you. You offered your bastard brother your throne? Why would you ever do such a thing aside from the torment you have placed yourself in?"

As worried as she is for him, she cannot find an answer to justify his actions. He walks with confidence and behaves as if he has none. From one moment to the next, he is a different person in a world of his own design. She is beginning to wonder if their plans to escape from the tangled net of power he was born into were all just fictional discussion to placate her into blissful submission.

"You are right. I should have told you. Aylwin is using you as leverage, I meant to protect you and now I see that I have gone about it in the improper fashion. He gave me the option to choose you or the throne and I chose you first. Ever since, I have been struggling to execute a plan to deceive him. I never told him I would give him my crown, only speaking around the subject, but he grows weary and I have yet to come up with a viable plan that lacks warfare." He bites his lip, and lowers his eyes, "I want to do what is best for the Kingdom but I do not want to be King."

Brielle speaks with the softness of clouds, her lungs deflating with increasing labor. "Are you laying down your crown for me or for yourself?"

She can feel his hesitation in her bones. The little boy who dreamt of wearing his father's crown is lost in a maze created by doubt. He stands amid mountainous shadows and oceans of gold, caught between who he was made to be and who he is. Countless nights she has stared into the diamonds lining the sky with guilt buried in her heart. Alaria will blame her if he leaves the throne and she will never have enough time to atone for reconstructing his dreams.

"Do not place me above your desires. If you lay down your throne, it has to be for yourself and no one else."

Wells spring in her eyes and she fights to keep them below the surface as Harry meets her eyes. "Will you stand by me? No matter my decision?"

She would stand by him if the world collapsed beneath his feet. 


	24. Twenty-Four

Screams wrench the dawn from the sky. Catherine tears at her midwife, reaching for anything in sight to ease the pain radiating through every inch of her body. Footsteps outnumber her breaths as servants bustle through their work to catch a glimpse of the rumored heir of Alaria. The Prince is not on the grounds and the Royals are furious, pacing the corridor outside the room, their vocal cords straining to maintain frigid sovereignty as guards are dispersed like rain.

Near the end of the hall, Caldwell sighs and abandoned his post, headed for a hole in the castle wall known only to the forlorn Prince and his good-natured lover. How Harry has managed to keep the breach a secret when he and Brielle use it as a daily exit is beyond his comprehension. Nevertheless, he is careful to avoid slighting his friend and takes leave of the grounds through the front gates.

Alaria watches the castle as if it will float away in the next moment, transfixed upon a moment they cannot witness. If the child is his, Harry won't be able to face them for a month.

The familiar field of pink flowers greets him alongside the fragrant smell of blooming roses. Brielle has begun another garden of her own with every color imaginable. As beautiful as they are, he did not visit to admire flowers. His knuckles collide with the door, a sound that mimics distant cannons. Neither one calls out in answer or opens the door.

"Harry, get up you dalcop! If I stand out here any longer I will drag you back to the castle myself!"

Brielle's laughter is muffled by Harry's hand. Despite the playful nature of his eyes, disquiet rests in his voice, "Be quiet! He will ruin our peaceful morning with politics."

Caldwell only seeks him out when something of importance has taken place and requires his attention immediately. Whatever it is, he would rather stay in bed with Brielle, painting her cheeks and tracing the faint purple outlines underneath her skin with his lips. She says something but the words are trapped and vibrating between his fingertips. The corners of his lips feel like clouds, "I'm sorry, I don't believe I quite understood that."

Brielle pushes his hand away and pretends to draw in gusts of air, her bright eyes giving her away. "I said I can't breathe!"

Harry threads his fingers through the tangles in her hair, lips drawing closer to hers on their own accord. "Then let me help you." She tastes like the blackberries they had for breakfast before the sheets called them back to bed.

A riotous boom jumps through the walls. Caldwell is done waiting. "Now look what you've made me do! My apologies, Brielle!"

Beneath him, Brielle sinks into the mattress, her lungs burning as they contain her laughter. "I believe you've made him angry."

More like irritated. Harry kisses her and labors to remove the sheets to cover himself without exposing Brielle beneath the blanket. Caldwell waits by the door he kicked in, annoyance as rigid as his posture.

The sheet does not settle in his grip, shifting as it pleases and threatening to fall to the floor if he moves the wrong way. "Why was that necessary?"

"It wasn't. You took too long and I have no desire to add to the storm building within the castle."

Harry dares a glance toward the bedroom behind him, voice as thin as the sheet that fails to cover even the smallest shadow. "The child is arriving? So soon?"

As if he's been counting the days. The unborn child is a spider building a home inside his skull, forcing his attention during every waking moment and gnawing at the festering guilt within his heart with ravenous hunger. Distractions have sedated the unwelcome guest in intermittent stretches, evading the inevitable progression of time only by thought. If the child is here he is out of time.

Exchanging glances with Caldwell does little to alleviate the bubbling anxiety reaching with clawed fists for his lungs. He is just as unsettled, lips pressing together in a firm line, hesitant to breach the subject.

"She knows. I will be ready within a matter of moments."

Brielle is already dressed, her smile waned and reflective of the silver sky trapped beyond the window. She hasn't begun tearing at her dress yet whether it be on his account or her own. A set of clothing is arranged for him on the bed, somber colors to replace the vibrant decorations he is accustomed to wearing. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

Even though she moves to the next room to speak to Caldwell, her absence is enough to slow his movement and focus his thoughts. The child will come and the uproar in his soul will have to settle for a crown of his own design. A throne built from hollow gold and dense skulls.

"...he has to make a choice soon or war will break out. Aylwin has gnarled roots that run through every kingdom, not just Alaria."

Clothing rustles, Brielle must be picking at her dress. When she speaks, her words are weighted and almost inaudible, "He will make it soon, the crown is...haunting as much as it is burdensome." With his eyes closed, Harry allows her voice to speak to parts of him that his parents and his tutors have tried tirelessly to suppress. Soothing waves unlock vaulted rooms full of emotions unacceptable in court. Unsuitable for a King. She can do what no parent or advisor can and his mother resents her for that very reason.

He can imagine the gentle caress of her hand against Caldwell's shoulder, reaching for him anyway just in case words are not of enough comfort. "I will not let him abandon Alaria for me, and he will not walk away that easily. There's a plan in that chaotic jungle residing in his skull, the only thing holding him back is which plan to choose."

Silk covers his ears, muffling all sound. Dreaded clothing, always for show and never anything of much significance. Half the time he wants to rip the collars from his throat and don something rougher and less pristine.

"....he's still finding out who he is but he will not give the throne to Aylwin, no matter how much it bothers him."

Armor scrapes as Caldwell folds his arms, "So he's made a decision?"

Harry tightens the strings of his trousers and ambles through the open doorway, "No, I am conflicted." He takes Brielle's hand and lifts it to his lips, lingering longer than he needs to. "I shall return as soon as I am able."

Tears swell in her ocean eyes and force her voice to stick to the back of her throat. "What if the child is yours?" Brielle presses her forehead against his and allows her eyelids to fall. "What will become of us?"

If he could reach the stars, he would pull them all from the sky and place them in the palm of her hand to hold for eternity. "Nothing between us will change, you have my word. All that I am is yours."

Brielle's voice is as gentle as the wind, "What if I am with child?"

"Then I will love you twice as much as I do now, my beautiful culver." Her kiss carries the sweet embrace of dreams, clinging to his lips like fresh honey even as he paces in front of Catherine's door.

Richard glares at him pointedly, tapping his foot against the floor with a fervor Harry didn't know he was capable of. Strangled noises filter through the underside of the door. The crown he wears is different today, more somber in nature and sharp around the edges.

Minutes pass by in the span of years. Harry slumps against the wall, examining the enormity of his hands and the lack of prominent marks other men have. There are no misshapen fingers or strange, faded lines, no scrapes, calluses, or blisters. Luxury has made his hands pristine and unblemished--the hands of a maiden.

"They are not going to change no matter the length of time you stare at them for."

Harry glances up from his hands, bored and running out of patience. "Thank you, Richard. How would I have ever solved that mystery on my own?"

Gaining no response, he sighs and raises himself until his spine rests firmly against the wall. "Why are you here? I'm certain there are more pressing matters in the Kingdom to attend to."

Richard's distasteful stare does not waver, "More important than an heir? No. I am here to ensure that there is no falsification provided after the birth of the child."

Laughter fills the hall before he has a chance to stop himself. Servants have always been wary of his father in response to his wariness of them. Once he saw a woman dusting his chambers and accused her of plotting to steal his jewelry and he had her dismissed immediately. Brielle drives him absolutely mad.

"She's not in there you know."

All the color in Richard's face drains. Infant cries pierce the abrupt silence and draw Harry to his feet. The midwife will open the door and beckon them inside in a matter of heartbeats. "Did you honestly believe she would be present? Unlike you, she does not find pleasure in my faults."

Mae opens the door with bright eyes and a smile upon her lips. The child inside the room is still wailing, refusing to be comforted by anyone in its presence. Anne is probably inside, poking and prodding it to ensure that the lineage is clear. Harry wants to reach out and cradle the poor thing but Richard storms in, his eyes burning with the desire to shame him in any way that he can after he exposed Aylwin's existence to Anne.

Candles flicker with dull intensity, smothered by Catherine's gasps and the hushed conversations of servants. For whatever reason, he has never been in this room before, not even when Brielle was born from what Mae told him. Strange that birthing has to be done in the absence of light rather than a well lit room. No wonder she was screaming so much.

Richard's doesn't bother to hide his scowl as he paces the room like a frightened animal. "Where is the child?"

The answer is obvious, yet he still expects an answer. Harry inspects his fingernails, "With his mother."

Propped against a mountain of pillows, Catherine bends her head to cover the fussy infant. She covers the child so well neither man can see more than a tiny fist. He's forgotten how small children are in the hands of their mothers, dwarfed by the body they will grow into and make their own.

"Let them rest. There will be time to determine lineage later."

Richard scoffs, determined to prove that his son is nothing more than a disgrace upon the throne. "They may rest when we know whose child it is." Without the slightest hint of remorse, he rips the covers from her and exposes the infant. Wails reverberate in Harry's eardrums, pounding until he cannot take it any longer.

"Stop it! You are tormenting a child that has done nothing wrong!" His fingers are ice around Richard's wrist, forcing the blood to halt and race back to his fetid heart. "Leave her alone, I will handle the matter myself."

Catherine is vile in her quest to earn his affections over Brielle, but she is a person nonetheless. What kind of King would he be if he did not protect every individual in Alaria, no matter their status? The attempt to mold his heart to the poisonous crown failed to take root, and it is too late to turn back. He will not be another cruel hearted king.

A satisfied smirk settles on his lips, "As you wish." Heavy footfalls echo down the hall and fade into oblivion. The midwife is saying something to the other servants in the room, words jumbled and incoherent as he stares at the face of the little boy cradled in Catherine's arms. His eyes are absent of stars, a blistering midnight refusing to be satiated by any light source, his nose so small it could scarcely fit between his thumb and index finger, and his skin....a rich ebony that relates to him as much as the earth relates to the heavens. He is beautiful, but does not belong to him.

"Catherine..."

She bows her head, crystalline tears forming rivers in her cheeks. "Please, let him live. I will do anything you ask, just let my boy live."

Does everyone think so poorly of him? That he would be cruel enough to sentence a child to death for the indiscretions of the mother? A gilded monster seeking to destroy everything in his path?

Teeth graze his bottom lip, biting harder than necessary. "That is not my intention. You and your son may remain here as long as necessary to rebuild your lives. I only ask that you respect me and Brielle and raise your son to be what he wants, not what you ask of him."

"Is that a demand?"

Harry shakes his head, lips lifting toward the ceiling. "No, it is a request. The choice is yours, I only wish for you to be happy." For him to have the life I could not.


	25. Twenty-Five

Voices bounce of the walls of the throne room, ferocious whispers of plans that run themselves in circles--plans regarding what to do with Brielle now that Alaria knows Catherine's child is not his heir. Harry's hand is a calm reminder of her frantic heartbeat threatening to push the walls down with every breath. She tries her best not to allow her eyes to roam the vast room, concentrating instead on the distressed tone resonating from each Royal's throne. It appears that it does not matter what she does to win their favor--she will never have it.

They have been arguing for three hours, talking themselves into brambled thickets over their son's desire to marry a servant rather than a stiff Princess. She might think herself treasured if not for the vehement words Richard speaks every few moments about her nature as a peasant and the destruction it would bring to place her on a throne.

"Look at him, reposed as if he has taken leave within the countryside. He has no concern for this Kingdom or what happens to it."

Harry rolls his eyes and straightens his spine, "Says the man who cannot be bothered to converse with his own people."

Brielle squeezes his hand, frightened of his dormant temper. He has been calm as of late, but she is no longer certain of his moods or what triggers them. Faded colors line the sleeves of his tunic, reminders of the man who sketched her heart and filled it with vivid, unimaginable shades.

_All the candles have burnt out and all Brielle can think about are Harry's lips and how strangely pleasant they were against her own when he kissed her in the hall just outside his father's study. He no longer asks and she loves the way his fingers will brush her cheek the way her mother's fingers work with silks and threads. She wonders what he will look like when he's older, if he'll keep his hair short or let it grow, or if his cheeks will continue to disappear until he is nothing but fine lines and porcelain skin. What will she look like? Certainly not as regal as the royals she cares for or the boy who makes her feel strange things inside her chest and inside her head._

_Harry presses his palms flat against the cool stone walls, desperate to keep his balance on the sloped wooden stairs. The servant's quarters are devoid of all light and he has only been down to them a few times when he was looking for Brielle to show her some new trick he learned from his lessons. Mother says he is forbidden, yet she also says that he is a Prince and allowed to do as he pleases within his Kingdom, so why mustn't he visit any place within the castle?_

_"Elle? Where are you?"_

_She doesn't answer as fast as he wants her too, listening to shadows in her bed to make sure she didn't imagine his voice again. Once she ran out into the darkness and tripped over her own feet after mistaking her early dreams for reality. He doesn't come to see her at night and the moments when he visits during the day are rare._

_Another whisper cuts the silence, "Elle? Are you awake?"_

_Brielle scrambles out of bed, reaching for the lamp near the doorway to her room as if it will catch flame on its own accord. The fire is burning a room away, shrouded by the sleeping figures of her parents. Worried that she'll wake them, she stumbles into the hall with a smile as wide as the castle. "Harry! What are you doing here?"_

_Warm hands rest on her arm, holding on with a slight pressure that has her wondering if he is afraid of the dark. "I'm having trouble sleeping."_

_Familiar storms rush through her chest with fierce winds, "And what can I do for that? Flowers might not help when you cannot see them."_

_"Will you come to my rooms? There's a fire and sweets...oh and my blankets feel like the sky."_

_Blood rushes to her cheeks in rivers, "Your parents would send me away if they found out."_

_He kisses her and she can feel his damp eyelashes against her skin. "I won't let them."_

_"You swear it?"_

_She laughs as he links his pinky with hers, holding firmly to ensure his meaning is clear. "I swear it."_

_Guards roam the halls with absent minds, staring at well-known paintings with dull eyes and jaws not quite relaxed. Many of them are familiar but she has yet to learn all their names as their shifts change after a few hours and she tends to lose track of time. When they make it to Harry's door, both guards are missing._

_"Where are they?"_

_Harry opens the door and leads her inside, "Who? The guards? Sometimes they are gone for a while when they change shifts."_

_"Will they check your rooms?" As much as she enjoys being in his presence, fear of discovery dilutes the buzzing energy radiating from a rather small spot near the left side of her chest. If she is caught with him in his chambers her family can be released and sent to live somewhere far less pleasant for meager wages._

_Wood groans as the door falls into place and covers the sound Harry makes when he drops his body onto the overly fluffed bed that rests, centered against the back wall leading into his bathing chambers. "No, but sometimes I wish they would. The companionship is nice even though they do not talk very much."_

_Brielle twists her fingers behind her back, eyes roaming walls that she has yet to become accustomed to. Three new drawings are tacked to random areas of the right wall, each a sketch of something new. "I like it when you draw."_

_He smiles at the ceiling, "Me too. Although, I like spending time with you more."_

_She doesn't know what to say or how to place herself in such a well decorated room without direction. Harry smiles and invites her to lie on the bed with him with a simple hand gesture. Everything about the bed feels like a dream--including the boy beside her reaching for her hand. He doesn't ever seem real when he's wearing the finest silk tunics and his intricate silver crown. She wonders if he has it on now because he is accustomed to it or because he wants to impress her._

_"Do you ever think about what things could be like if I weren't a Prince?"_

_Only every day._

_"Quite often. Do you?"_

_"Always when I am with you. They want me to do so much and all at once. What if I cannot meet their expectations? If I cannot ask for your hand when I am of age?"_

_Brielle turns her head and envisions lying beside Harry five years later when he is sixteen and she is fifteen. If he never meets his parent's expectations or the expectations, she's certain she will still feel the same excitement in her veins whenever he is near. "I think...you will be the Golden King and make everyone happy, even your father."_

_He refuses to look at her, "And what if I'm not?"_

_"You'll still have me."_

Richard adjusts his posture and becomes stiff enough to resemble a tree. "Hold your tongue, it has caused you more harm than good."

Unable to hold her tongue any longer Brielle speaks without concern for the crown atop his head. " _His_ tongue has spread jubilation throughout Alaria and spread rumors that he is the Golden King. What has  _yours_  done aside from slander those below you?"

"I would advise you to hold your tongue as it appears all you have been to my son is a misguided dalliance."

Harry pulls his hand from hers faster than she can react, "She is anything but a dalliance! You promised me her hand in marriage if I bested the guards in a duel and I did. Talk all you want, she will be my bride and I will offer no compromise."

Anne sighs and fidgets with the many rings that adorn her fingertips, "I understand your affections, but you must understand that a Kingdom cannot be run on the basis of love alone, Harry. There are rules to be followed, precautions to be taken."

"I understand that, but we should not have to marry someone we do not feel affection for just for the sake of royal bloodlines. Everyone else marries for love, why can't we? Is it so horrible to love someone without royal blood? They are no different than we are, yet we treat them as if they are inferior because they lack the monetary value we possess. Brielle is no different than you or I, yet we make her that way because we were raised to. Do you not think the people of Alaria would rejoice in knowing that one of their own became part of the crown?"

Each royal remains silent, contemplating his words as if they were laced with poison. Anne is the first to speak whispers in Richard's ear, her calm exterior soothing and threatening in the same moment. Whatever she said has no effect on his mood, his eyes still receive Brielle as a peasant unworthy of his time.

"Very well. If you are set in your decision, adjustments will be made. Brielle must conform to the rules of the court. She will partake in the same lessons you were subjected to as a child and others in order to fully represent Alaria as a member of the royal family."

"And if she refuses?"

"She will leave this Kingdom and never return."

Brielle pulls her lips together as tight as she can manage. Three pairs of eyes are watching her reaction and she is at a loss for words. Harry is everything she has ever wanted, regardless of the crown on his head, but she is uncertain about the throne he wants her to claim as her own. Fairy tales have only ever been dreams, and now that reality has taken control and merged with her dreams, she is uncertain of her own desires.

Without a significant reaction, the Royals interpret her silence as acceptance and continue their lengthy speech about what it means to be a Princess and later a Queen. Brielle can only focus on the rapid pulse in her chest and the lack of oxygen filling her lungs. Harry says something into her ear and adds pressure to her hand but the words evaporate like the dew on hot summer days.

The thought of wearing a crown burdens her so heavily that she does not recollect the remainder of her day. Sunset escapes her and the thought of speaking with Harry on the matter drives her away from him as if he has contracted the plague. He appears around every corner and excuses are wearing thin with the remaining hours of daylight.

Near sunset he corners her in the kitchen, "Have I done something to upset you?"

Brielle shakes her head and avoids eye contact, "No, you have not done a single thing."

"Do you no longer wish to marry me?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then what is it?"

Brielle bites her lip, choosing her words as carefully as she can manage without butchering his feelings. "Have you ever considered that I do not want this? That a crown frightens me more than losing you?"

The gentle crease between his eyes answers her before his lips move in reply. He is accustomed to things happening as they are meant to or as he wants them to. No matter the conversations or the love passed between them, she is not sure he will ever be able to comprehend what he is asking of her.

"I was not born to be a Queen or a Princess. I haven't the slightest idea how to behave as you do while in the company of other Royals. If what you have told me is true, the life your parents have assigned to me is not the life I want, Harry. I love you more than I love my garden and more than I love my parents or anything on this earth, but I am not certain that I can give you the life you want."

Harry tugs at the ends of his hair and allows his upper teeth to sink into his lower lip. "Tell me what you want and I will follow you no matter the consequence."

Tears blur her vision, "I want to love you for who you are. To have children with you and raise them with all the love in our hearts. I want to be your wife and your Princess, but I do not know how to without breaking everything in the process."

"Marry me. We can change all this--" He waves his hand and fights a desolate smile, "We can change the rules and live as we please."

Brielle shakes her head, tears falling down her cheeks with the intensity of summer rain. "Your crown makes you miserable."

"It makes me a lot of things, but I am the most miserable when I am without you, Elle. Without you I cannot comprehend what is asked of me, let alone carry out the duties set by my ancestors."

'"What if you regret it? Regret  _me?_ "

Disobedience lingers in all of his facial features, "I could never regret you, Elle. Not even if you asked it of me."

"How do you know?"

His teeth cover the left side of his lip before disappearing as his eyes fall to the floor, "I don't. But I know my heart resides within yours and refuses to attach to anyone else."

Brielle closes her eyes and inhales the earthy scent on his clothing, "Swear it."

Harry lifts her chin with his thumb and forefinger, stroking her cheeks as if they were made of sunlight, "I swear it."


	26. Twenty-Six

Anticipation lingers in the streets, creeping through the soles of shoes and embedding itself in the variegated eyes of Alaria. Harry smiles and waves his hand in greeting and the whispers begin. No one has seen him since his failed wedding and news from the Kingdom has been sparse. Children peek from behind veiled windows, their small fingers clutching the fabric as they watch him walk by, hand in hand with the woman he’s always been spotted with. Brielle has a certain allure about her that seems to affect everyone but his parents and other royals. Even when they were kids, people followed her as if she carried their souls in the palms of their hands.

 

Merek tugs on his trousers, peering up at him with a bashful smile. “Prince Harry?”

 

He tilts his head and feels a strange relief when the heavy weight of a crown does not encroach upon his forehead. “Yes, Merek?”

 

Brielle smiles and reaches into her coin purse, searching for one of the sweets he’d given her earlier. More children are creeping through the crowd to stare and twist their fingers behind their backs. 

 

“Are you going to marry Elle?”

 

“Well...I was planning to announce that later, but I suppose now would be a good time.” A hush falls over the growing crowd. Brielle squeezes his hand. She’s never liked crowds and he told her they were going into town to gather more art supplies. Harry returns the pressure and kisses her cheek before turning back to Alaria. “I know that my reign has become tumultuous these last few months, but I assure you, everything is alright and no alterations have been made aside from my bride. As you know, my engagement to Princess Kinsley of Slodour has ended and I remain unwed. This woman beside me has shown me how to love since the very moment she was born, and I am incredibly pleased to announce that she is the woman I will be wed to within the forthcoming weeks.  Please join me in welcoming Brielle Helprin into the royal family.”

 

Cheers erupt around the square and Harry wills his smile to remain intact as surprise prods at his heart. Even with all that he’s done to be part of his people, he never imagined their reaction to his betrothal to a servant would be so...joyous and accepting. Brielle squeezes his arm and steps closer to him, “So much for art supplies.”

 

Harry pinches the shy smile from her cheeks, forcing blood to rise to the surface of her tanned skin. “My darling, you  _ are _ the only art I need. Always.”

 

People of all ages and castes surround them, their voices blending in an unrecognizable mass of congratulations and questions the never seem to end. He speaks more than he ever has within the castle walls, moving his hands around in wide gestures and glancing at Brielle every few moments to ensure that she’s alright. Every word from her mouth is accompanied by a smile worthy of fifteen crowns. She reminds him of what being live feels like: to notice the irregular patterns of the heart and the pebbles that catch strange angles on his shoes. If fate allowed him, he would spend every hour of the day trying to capture the soft curves of her face and the gardens trapped within her eyes.

 

_ Brielle’s nose forces itself to wrinkle as she watches the dark lines spread across the paper sprawled in front of him. “Why do you want to draw me? I’m not very pretty.”  _

 

_ His pencil moves with precision, calculating the angles of her cheeks against the soft firelight. A single smile is all it takes to bring the rich pigment he adores so much to her cheeks. “You are more than pretty: you are beautiful. I would stare at you all day long if given the chance.” _

 

_ Guards file past the closed doors, their voices muffled in disinterested conversation. Queen Anne must have sent them to search for him again knowing that he was last seen with Brielle. No one will speak kindly of her anymore. All they ever do is whisper behind their hands and point their fingers when they think he isn’t looking. People in town do the same thing, but there is a different tone and smiles peek through their fingers when he walks by with Brielle. Sometimes the older women give them sweets and wish them well.  _

 

_ A slight breeze shifts the curtains, spilling slanted rays of sunlight into the empty room. Brielle is playing with her fingers and staring at the door like a witch will Spring from the wood if she moves the wrong way. His charcoal rests inches above the paper, “They won’t ever hurt you, you know. Not while I’m alive, anyway.” _

 

_ He’s not sure what would happen if he wasn’t around. Richard doesn’t seem to care for him at all and Anne is almost entirely indifferent until she learns that he is with Brielle. As much as they are his parents, they feel like strangers.  _

 

_ “I am not worried about myself.” _

 

_ Dust particles float near the edge of his vision in a lazy waltz. “You are worried for me?” Inside his chest, his heart pulses with the intensity of thunder, beating at his ribs and enticing his fingers to allow the charcoal to plummet to the floor.   _

 

_ Brielle lowers her chin and hides behind her hair, “I am always concerned for you.” _

 

_ Conversation escapes him, taunting his lips into motion but failing to produce any sound. Her eyes laugh before her voice does, playful and curious. “Do they not teach you how to speak in your etiquette lessons? At the very least, they should allow you to learn how to woo anyone in your presence.” _

 

_ Harry meets the challenge with raised eyebrows and a smirk. “Do I not woo you? I was under the impression that I do.”  _

 

_ Teeth pull her bottom lip inward as she attempts to hide the blush rising in her cheeks. They both notice how the air changes every time the other is in the room and how unbearable it is to stay away for more than a few lengthy hours. If the walls could talk, Alaria would imitate the sunset upon news of the scandal.  _

 

_ “Perhaps.” _

 

_ She teases him often, but he has never wanted to kiss her so much. His voice rises two pitches higher, “Perhaps?” Art is forgotten as he rises to his feet, head tilted to the side like an animal eyeing its prey.  _

 

_ Defiant as ever, Brielle straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, pressing her lips together like she does when she doesn’t want him to know he’s gotten to her. “Yes, perhaps.” _

 

_ Four steps and he’s inches away, fingers splayed against her cheeks. “You are a terrible liar.” _

 

_ His lips meet hers as her back meets the wall, lustful and gentle in the same breath. “It makes me want you so much more.” _

 

Brielle pinches his hip, “Harry, they want us to celebrate with them. Isn’t that a wonderful idea?”

 

All he can think about is her chest pressed to his, lungs inflating so near each breath can be heard, and the sinful grasping of flesh that has kept him up since he first understood what it meant to be intimate with a woman. And Brielle...if no one was present to witness she would be beneath him in a cloud of ecstacy. 

 

“Celebrate?”

 

Laughter berates his eardrums and eliminates the fantasy confusing reality with past memories. “Yes, celebrate! We’re going to Nicholai’s Pub for a few drinks and some music.”

 

Harry’s face pales, “A pub?”

 

Brielle takes his hand and walks with him through the mass of people who haven’t seemed to spread by any means. Pubs have always piqued his curiosity, but he’s never garnered the courage to enter one. The stories he’s heard have been slurred monologues of great joy and great agony and he is unsure of which paints the better picture. “Should I act in a certain manner?”

 

“Be as you are, not what is expected of you. They want to be your friend, treat them as such and they will love you near as much as I do.” She kisses his cheek and steps closer until her clothes move against his like water. Farah and Caldwell find a way to their side, holding off on conversation until the road twists and leads downhill to new row of buildings with bright tapestries. 

 

“Farah, I don’t believe you’ve properly met my friend, Harry. He happens to be the Prince, but he is God awful at cards. Oh, and as you just heard, he is engaged to my other friend, the lovely Brielle. She is far better company, I assure you.”

 

Caldwell elbows his ribs with a playful smirk, although Harry knows part of him isn’t joking by any means. Jibes are easy between them and Caldwell is more of a brother to him than Aylwin will ever be, a brother that does not want anything in return for his companionship. And he enjoys Brielle’s company when Harry cannot be without it.

 

“Ah, yes. The storyteller has arrived. Tell me again how I bested you in a fencing tournament a few nights prior? Or how you failed to introduce me to your charming lady until this very moment?” He’s seen Farah before at a place and a time he cannot recall. She is beautiful and he is certain she accentuates the best parts of his friend. How many others are there that he cannot recall? Those he hasn’t met within his Kingdom? “It is wonderful to meet you, Farah. Thank you for guarding the beast hiding in that dreadful armor.”

 

She exaggerates her bow and elicits a roaring laugh from Brielle. “The same goes for you, your highness.”

 

Years of training force his posture to stiffen. “Just Harry, please.” 

 

Beside him, Brielle whispers something in her ear, drawing her attention away from the tension threatening to snap his bones. Grateful for the distraction, his eyes are drawn to the rings adorning his fingers. Such brittle things molded into objects of formidable strength and refined beauty. Only one of them matters and it is the most unadorned piece of jewelry he owns--the poesie ring Brielle gifted him when he was eighteen, promising herself to him knowing the risks of their affair and how likely he was to wed someone else. No one else understands him the way she does, the neglected child forced into a life of pretending his heart was made of stone when it was made of embers. 

 

Conversation filters through his mind in fragmented sentences, thank you and congratulations and what a pair. Five pints in and he’s trapped in despair, wondering if the choice he’s made will harm Brielle more than it will enliven the dreams she’s held onto since she’s learned how ill fated fairy tales are. She was right when she warned him that the ale in the pub was not as refined as the ale presented in the castle, but it is certainly more potent. 

 

Brielle is still speaking with Farah, something about Caldwell and his need to nurture in contrast to his stark nature. She is smiling so much he’s afraid her cheeks will burst if she continues for much longer. “Elle? Do your cheeks hurt?”

 

Confused, she glances between the two, cheeks warm with amber ale. “Of course not, why would they?”

 

“Can we go home?” There are too many people and his ears hurt. All he wants to do is lie in bed with his arms around Brielle and no pressing concerns turning his pillow to steel. 

 

She looks at him like he is made of glass, “Home home or the castle home?”

 

“Home home.”

 

Her hand is a candle, burning and soothing against his skin as she leads him to the heart he’s learned to kindle in spite of the smothering stone he’s been taught to freeze. 

 


	27. Twenty-Seven

Brielle hates the mirror’s reflection of the delicate fern colored dress. Three different ladies in waiting pinch her cheeks and twist her hair until she does not recognize herself. All three have addressed her with silent etiquette, speaking their names with such timid voices she has not been able to learn who they are. 

 

Heaviness settles over her forehead. A tiara she has never seen before rests above her hairline, glittering with rubies and diamonds and elegant patterns resembling tulips. 

 

Her fingers trace the smooth edges, hesitant to interact with the auspicious manifestation of gilded dreams. “Oh...this isn’t mine.” 

 

The woman with blonde hair and freckled cheeks smiles into the mirror, “Of course it is, my lady. Prince Harry had it hand crafted for you.”

 

Brielle bites the inside of her lip, pinching her name into oblivion. Her ladies in waiting do not know her as she would like them to and she has no desire to present an unfavorable image. 

 

“Do you not favor the design?”

 

“No! No, that is not it.” Knowing that Harry designed her tiara melts her heart, but does nothing to dampen the foreign feeling threatening to break her bones. Brielle lowers her hands to her sides to distract herself with the soft material Harry is so easily annoyed by. “The design is arresting in every manner. Knowing that he had it made...I cannot find the words to express how delighted he’s made me feel with the gesture. Forgive my lack of eagerness, I am not used to such finery.”

 

Another girl with black hair and storm-cloud eyes adjusts her tiara and the hair beneath it, “Have you taken lessons before?”

 

Brielle forces a smile as the metal bites into her scalp and pulls at her already tight hair. How anyone can wear such a weighted and painful piece of metal for all hours of the day is perplexing. No wonder Harry often roams the halls without it. 

 

_ Harry shakes his head and readjusts her chin, pointing it toward the ceiling in an uncomfortable manner and claiming that’s where it should always be.  _

 

_ “You’re making things up! People can’t sit like this all the time, their necks would break!” _

 

_ He chuckles and settles his hands over hers to stop her fidgeting. “They do, I swear. All I do in lessons is learn how to do stuff like that and other things I have no use for. And you cannot do that or you’ll get lashes for misbehaving.” _

 

_ Brielle’s eyes widen as her chin drops the regal posture. “They lash you for not being perfect?” _

 

_ Harry refuses to look at her, his voice a low rumble, “Not always.”  _

 

_ Silk meets her cheek with a soothing kiss, her arms tight around his torso. “I’m sorry.” _

 

_ His arms do not match her embrace for a torturous number of heartbeats, but when they do, they cling to her smaller frame like paint clings to walls.  _

 

“Lessons? No, I have never taken lessons myself. Harry used to teach me when we were bored or he wanted me to understand something, but I have never partaken in actual lessons.”

 

Another pinch to her cheeks and the ladies in waiting step back, at last allowing her a breath of her own. She wonders if Anne sent them or if Harry did. Not one of them is familiar and all three are timid, as if they are already afraid of her. “May I ask your names again? I don’t believe I captured them earlier.”

 

The woman with blonde hair speaks first, “My name is Clairise, my lady.”

 

“Please just call me Brielle. Titles are too much and I hope to be each of your friends once you are comfortable around me.”

 

Clarice blushes and exchanges glances with the other two. Nervous energy bites the skin of all parties, desperate for an escape that will never come under a throne. With her fingers yearning to remove the tiara, Brielle shifts her feet, “You don’t have to if you feel it too uncomfortable. I understand that this isn’t exactly a normal situation.”

 

All three women are silent, observing her like artists observe scenery. The brunette woman who has yet to say a word since their first introduction bites the inside of her cheek, “Is that why most of the staff call the Prince by his given name?”

 

“Yes, he’s asked them to call him Harry instead, but they are not obligated to. If you call him Harry his smile resembles the stars. It’s rather charming.” 

 

She wears a shy smile focused on Brielle’s eyes rather than her tiara. “My name is Eva.”

 

At last, the woman who asked about lessons introduces herself. “My name is Sabina. Thank you for being so welcoming of strangers. We are not always treated in a kind manner.”

 

Brielle does not know what to do with her hands. Harry has taught her some basic etiquette rules but he never showed her how to move when she was nervous and there was nothing hiding her hands. These women came to her from unknown places with scattered pasts that all seemed to align with mistreatment. If there is anything she does as a Princess or a Queen, she wants it to benefit those who are mistreated or pushed aside. “It is my pleasure. I hope that you will be comfortable here and not feel as out of place as I do. If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know and I will do my best.”

 

She intends to say more about speaking their minds and asking any questions whenever they occur when a gentle knock at the door interrupts her. 

 

Harry clears his throat and speaks to the door, “I hate to interrupt, but it would appear I am late and my mother will burn my ears off with her fingers if Brielle is not present within the next few minutes.”

 

One of the women giggles and quickly stifles the sound with her hand. Layers of fabric and uncomfortable shoes halt Brielle’s movement so much that it takes her an entire five minutes to make it to the door. Harry’s smile is more dazzling than his new crown, a fine piece of gold accented with crystalline emeralds and sharp lines. 

 

“Good morning, darling.” His eyes begin at her crown and end at the hem of her dress before settling to her eyes. “You look absolutely...enchanting.” 

 

Brielle hides her hands behind her back, reveling in the familiar feeling blooming in her chest. He looks like a King standing before her in his white, ruffled tunic and cape filled with trapped pools of gold.  If she had not seen him grow into the man he’s become her vocal cords would be as dry as winter leaves. “And  _ you _ look every bit a King. I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but this dress is….well, unfit for anyone but a doll.” To think she used to make such awful things for his mother and Kinsley. No wonder women of power have a tendency to be in a foul mood. 

 

Harry kisses her cheek and waves to Clairise, Eva, and Sabina who’s cheeks burn in unison. “Thank you, ladies. Please, take some time to explore the grounds and become comfortable in your living quarters. If you have any questions, ask for Caldwell. Have a lovely day and welcome to Alaria.”

 

As she walks arm in arm with Harry, breathing feels like drowning. Each step brings her closer to the throne and another life she used to dream of every time she looked at Harry. The prospect of sitting through hours of etiquette lessons every day is not as daunting as learning to wear clothing that makes her feel like a fawn learning how to walk. 

 

“Do you like your tiara? Mother fought me tirelessly on the matter, insisting you have one from the vault rather than one that was made for you. She forced an accord so there are jewels from our collection but the frame was custom made.”

 

Her fingers raise instinctively, prodding the metal frame and the confined rubies. “I adore it, but not the pain it brings when accompanied by my hair. Will it always be so uncomfortable?” If it is, she will not be a fine representative of the royal family. 

 

Etiquette thrown aside, Harry removes her tiara and spins it around his finger with a broad smile. “Not if you take it off.”

 

Removing the weight relieves the pressure but leaves behind a ghost that multiplies tenfold once the doors to the Throne Room are in sight. Behind the gigantic doors on distinctive thrones, Harry’s parents are anticipating her failure-- _ his  _ failure of choosing a proper bride suited to rule multiple Kingdoms. She will never meet the expectations set for purebred Royals no matter how diligent the King and Queen are. 

 

“What will they do to you if I cannot be the Princess they want me to be?” Harry has little secrets, but she knows that he has never quite told her the truth about what goes on in his world when perfection cannot be attained during every waking moment. All she can think about is Harry with his shirt torn open and long, bloody gashes cresting his shoulders and running down his back. 

 

As she watches for his reaction, his posture stiffens and the finger twirling her tiara ceases to spin. “I don’t know. Whatever happens, I will be alright as long as I have you.” He places the tiara atop her braids, careful not to push the metal too close to her skull. “Be yourself, they will come to love you just as easily as I have.”

 

Once the door opens, her feet refuse to be swayed. Oxygen is sharp inside her lungs, piercing the soft tissue and leaving the holes unrepaired. Harry removes his arm and takes her hand, “Don’t let them see how much they effect you or they will use it against you. I won’t leave your side.”

 

True to his word, he seats himself beside her and matches her posture as he greets his parents with a curt apology for their late arrival. Richard waves him off and rumbles something into Anne’s ear. “Harry, after this lesson you will exit and allow Brielle the proper atmosphere for her lessons.”

 

His mouth opens in protest, but his mother has a quick tongue. “There will be no protest.”

 

Etiquette lessons move with sluggish speed, drawing Brielle’s eyes closed during every lull. Harry begins to hum an hour through, ignoring the blistering glare his father sends from across the room. Say this, look like this when someone looks at you this way and look like this if someone looks at you another way, don’t slouch, speak up, hold your chin up higher, blink less. By the time Harry is expelled from the room, Brielle feels like a puppet, blankly following orders because there are too many cues to remember all at once. 

 

Decades pass within the span of a mere few hours. Richard still looks like he wants to set her on fire by the time she is set free and she does not know how to fix it. Harry tells her not to worry about it, but she cannot help it when he will become a major part of her life. How can a man be so angry to see his son happy?

 

Eva sweeps the brush through her hair for the hundredth time. “Pri-Brielle? Are you alright?”

 

She blinks hard and meets her soft brown eyes in the mirror, “Yes, my apologies. Did you meet Caldwell on your explorations this afternoon?”

 

“I did! He was very helpful! Did you know there’s a cute little treehouse near the back of the grounds?”

 

Brielle beams, her smile stretching her cheeks for the first genuine smile since etiquette lessons. “Yes, Harry had it built when he was ten and I was nine. We used to live up there for as long as we could get away with. He used to show me all of his paintings in there and light a hundred candles so we could talk and still see each other.”

 

“He paints?”

 

Unable to help herself, Brielle talks for what feels like hours, sharing the smallest of details with her ladies in waiting and feeling all the better for finally having someone to talk to other than Harry, her mother, and Caldwell. She could talk about Harry all night if someone gave her the time. 

 

Muffled conversation floats under the door as Harry returns and speaks with the guards. 

 

“I suppose that is my reminder not to be late again. Thank you for making me look and feel like a true Princess even though I am anything but. Sleep well, I suppose I will see you ladies in the morning.”

 

Harry greets her in a silken black tunic and matching trousers. His cape is missing, but his crown is intact and as dazzling as it ever is. “Ready for supper, my sweet bellibone?”

 

She shakes her head, panicking when her tiara starts to slip toward the back of her head. “Not at all. Your father detests me and who knows what your mother thinks.” Having supper in the castle with the royals unsettles her stomach more than it did when she first started sneaking around with their son. 

 

“He will grow accustomed to your company. Mother likes you, she is only worried for my heart even when she knows it is safe.”.

 

“Is it too late to run away?”

 

He chuckles and steps closer to her, walking hip to hip toward the dining hall. “I’m afraid so.”

 

Guards swing the doors open and reveal a room full of unfamiliar royals and what appears to be hundreds of plates of food. Harry pales and Brielle wants to vomit. They gave her etiquette lessons today only to test her in the evening without any further warning. She shakes her head so fast Harry steps in front of her, “Hey, it’s alright. I am here and you are stronger than they believe. Hold your chin up and smile. It will be over soon.”

 

“Harry I c-”

 

He kisses her before she can finish, “I believe in you.”

 

“What if I embarrass you?”

“You won’t.”

 

Her legs feel like they are made of glass as he walks her to their arranged seats. What feels like a thousand eyes are on her, watching her every move and counting each time she blinks. Her tongue rests like a cannonball threatening to roll down her throat. 

 

Three courses pass before someone gathers the courage to address her. “So, Brielle. How are you liking the castle?”

 

She holds her chin impossibly higher and forces her lips to form a kind smile, “I have always enjoyed the castle. Alaria has beautiful forests and such a large array of flowers that it feels like living in a dream.” 

 

“Does it feel any different now that you are living in the Princess Suite?”

 

Harry clears his throat and she pinches his knee. “No, the only difference to me is the clothing and my ladies in waiting. Living in a different set of chambers doesn’t change much but the scenery.”

 

Questions are thrown at her left and right until she is certain her throat will be raw from speaking so much. Richard looks calm by the end of the night and Anne smiles at her like a daughter and not a servant who stole her son. How they will react to her tomorrow is another mystery she won’t begin to comprehend. 

 

Harry leans closer with each conversation and shares some of their childhood memories with those who seem to be more fond of the two of them. By the time dinner ends, she feels like a whole new person ready to take on the world if it was demanded of her. Only the guards are left in the hall and the all the wine she’s consumed to calm her nerves controls her actions. 

 

“Take me to your rooms.”

 

His eyes widen as he takes her hand and quickens their pace. “I see you’re feeling better.”

 

Brielle kisses him, chest pressed to his in the middle of the hall. “Much better.”

 

Harry can’t pull her into the room fast enough. Her back hits the wall with an audible thud, forcing the air from her lungs. Kisses ignite the fire raging beneath her skin and force her heart to the surface. Desire takes over, moving her limbs and pushing his larger frame toward the bed. 

 

Bruising fingers attach to her hips, moving with the fluidity of water and the constancy of the tide. For the first time, she doesn’t care who will hear them or what they will say about her the next morning. 

 


	28. Twenty-Eight

Face turned toward the wall, Brielle mumbles something about pretty eyes. Harry smiles as he traces invisible lines down her spine and circles over her hip. He’s been awake since dawn first spread her fingers through the curtains, lost in reverie about future children who might exist at this very moment and their mother, speaking her dreams in fractured sentences beside him. 

 

Confidence swept her with such fervor the previous night, he almost believed she had a twin sister he never knew about. Seeing her so comfortable in the midst of a vicious crowd of Royals made his heart swell until it threatened to break through his chest and hit the far wall. He knows the throne is not what she wants, but she was made for it as much as he was made for her. No crown has ever looked so  _ right _ on a woman, so...resplendent. 

 

Brielle turns to face him, a lazy smile urging her eyelids to fight off the last moments of rest. “You’re hands are cold.” Part of her face is hidden by the soft down of the pillow beneath her head. “Must we leave your bed today?”

 

If being a Prince meant that he could do as he pleased at every moment, three days of the week would be spent with slow mornings and lavish afternoons soaking in the tub and recalling past laughter. Her cheek is made of the finest silk he’s had the privilege to feel, “My beautiful dove, we will have the day and plenty more once we are wed. There are some errands I must attend to, but I am yours the moment all are completed.”

 

She groans from deep in her throat, “Why can’t we go to the chapel and celebrate within Alaria? With our people.”

 

His lips greet hers, gentle as a child’s lullaby. “And what errands do you believe I am attending to? Farah is bringing me to see the priest and make arrangements. Our wedding is about you and honoring our people, not either of my parents. Say the word and it will be done.”

 

Roused to wakefulness, Brielle rises and straddles his waist, dark hair casting shadows over her eyes. “Stay with me.”

 

Temptation arrests his mind, controlling his limbs like a marionettist. All she has to do is place a single kiss upon his lips and he will succumb to his desires, delaying the wedding for another few days in spite of the pressure of his parents to speed up the process. “Elle...your ladies...they’re waiting.”

 

All three came to the door once the sun met the peak of the horizon to prepare her for the day. He sent them away with time to return and arrange her dressing for the day. Granted, he made the mistake of covering himself with a stray decorative pillow, but the ladies were kind enough to stifle their laughter. 

 

Concerned more for her ladies in waiting than herself, Brielle relents with her teeth caught in her cheek and an very pretty pout. “Very well, but I must insist we continue this later, when all obligations are met.” 

 

Harry pulls her back to him and presses a chaste kiss to her lips, “I am all yours.”

  
  


* * *

 

Conversation floats easily with Caldwell and Farah as they journey towards the outskirts of town. “Does she like her new gowns? I’ve heard they feel like the moon’s embrace.” Farah’s curiosity pools from her eyes with wide energy and entices an answer he’s feels certain about. 

 

“I don’t think she enjoys them as most women would. After all, she hears me complain about the material so often and she is not used to such tight corsets. To be quite honest, I believe she prefers her old clothes.” 

 

Brielle is unlike any woman he’s ever met. She prefers to live as a peasant and trade her life for that of another rather than live above all else. And she hates ornamented jewelry. The crown he had crafted for her was made to be sparse as possible while retaining the beauty she crafts in her rose gardens, and he’s still not sure if she really enjoyed the design or merely the thought of it. Her smile has changed as of late, and although it is arresting, he is unsure when it is genuine. Spending too much time engaging in Aylwin’s misguided fantasies and practicing the art of deception triggered a part of his mind he’s been suppressing for years--how to act like he owns the world and convince those who watch him that he is genuine.

 

Farah chuckles as Caldwell adjusts his stride to match hers, “Always humble, that one. I imagine even your children will think of others before they think of themselves.”

 

A strange sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a snort sticks to Caldwell’s throat like fresh honey, “Harry’s children? Never. Brielle’s? Certainly. You see, Harry here is caught somewhere in the middle where he cares too much about both and struggles to choose which he favors more until you force his hand.”

 

Words entangle themselves inside his vocal cords, trapped midway between the surface and oblivion as Caldwell was quick to divulge. He wants to argue, tell him another version of the truth that he sometimes believes himself, but his tongue will not let him. “But I will always choose Brielle.”

 

“Aye, that you will. In that, you will make a very admirable King. The first I’ve heard of to have true affections for his wife other than the French.”

 

Harry jabs his elbow at Caldwell’s armor, “I admire the French very much.” He’s only visited on rare occasions when his father claimed relationships with foreign nobility hold Kingdoms together. 

 

_ Edelinne and her friends erupt in a fit of giggles the moment he walks by. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but their cheeks match the bright dye of their dresses.  _

 

_ “Smile at them and lower your chin in greeting.” Anne demonstrates with the same smile he sees her wear in court and at special meals with the Royal families of the eleven Kingdoms. She looks hollow and nothing like the woman who visited him in the evenings to tell him stories and kiss his forehead.  _

 

_ Harry reaches for the hood of his cloak and his mother slaps his hand away. “A King does not shy away from ladies and neither do Princes. Acknowledge them and be polite.” _

 

_ Unable to smile in the same manner, he follows his mother’s instructions. Edelinne follows him around and talks only of herself. How much the people adore her and how fancy her wedding gown will be. And she always walks on top of him, as if he is made of dirt and rock and meant to worship her. If she is ever to be Queen, she will bleed her people dry.  _

 

_ “On se verra plus tard, Prince Harry?” _

 

_ Anne pinches his elbow. Hiding a grimace, he turns on his heel with the hope Edelinne and her friends will leave him alone until supper. “Oui, Princess Edelinne. Vous me verrez ce soir à côté de mes parents. Au revoir.” _

 

_ When the girls are far beyond the range of hearing, his mother sighs and turns away from him. “Do you not like her?” _

 

_ “No. She is foul company and only talks of herself.” She is nothing like Brielle and he doesn’t understand why she was not allowed to come. If his mother needs a dress hemmed he’s certain she can fix it better than anyone else.  _

 

_ “Harry, you cannot expect to live as the French do. We are not like them and neither are the thirteen Kingdoms. Do you understand?” _

 

_ Love is not important or necessary. “Yes, mother. I understand.” _

  
  


“Do you know any French?” Farah’s hair flows in impossible directions as the wind picks up. Ashen clouds billow across the horizon in thick streams. “I heard it sounds like speaking to God.” A close guess. He felt it sounded more like phlegm stuck at the back of the throat and refusing to leave.

 

Rain drops from the sky in random patches, plinking as it falls against Caldwell’s armor. “No, I lost the knowledge through lack of practice after my last visit. I believe I was promised to Princess Edelinne for many years until my mother realized I would not wed anyone, even if they begged me to.” Anne keeps many secrets--as a Queen should--but romantic matters are her weakness and she is the sole reason he was not wed by the age of fourteen. If it were up to Richard, he would be bedding some awful woman to produce heirs and nothing more. 

 

The grass is thin around the large building, twice the size of every structure in the surrounding area. Countless footsteps have walked this path for generations, making the journey to pray, beg forgiveness, and pledge marriage. Invisible forces push him forward, each step branding him as an outsider in his own Kingdom, his footsteps the first of a royal in four hundred years. 

 

Bells chime to announce midday, resounding against the mountains and in the bustling streets below the hill. Songs rise from the valleys with muffled words blending together as the day bleeds into night. Caldwell looks at him with a newfound curiosity, “Promised to a French heir? What good would that serve?”

 

Harry shrugs, unable to recall the precise moment when the realization came to him. “I suppose father meant to conquer the world one step at a time. The French have a vast fleet of ships, far better than our own, and ships provide more access to land, people, and gold. He’s always meant to leave a great mark upon our history, and he used to believe he could do that through me.”

 

The door to the church swings open without the slightest groan, revealing an elderly man with a beard that reaches his shoulders and wrinkles that outnumber the men Harry has watching his back from the streets and nearby wilderness. “Your Highness, what pleasure do I have in welcoming you this afternoon?”

 

“Forgive me for the lack of warning, but I came to make arrangements for my wedding. May I ask your name as to address you properly?” He should have sent a raven the moment he decided to be wed in the church and not in the castle, but between the planning and constructing lessons Brielle is less likely to want to hang herself from, he’s neglected the proper channels to arrange meetings. 

 

The priest bows low, “My name is Bertrand, my Lord.”

 

Harry extends his hand and offers the elderly priest a smile, “You may call me Harry. I apologize for my lack of communication Bertrand, but I hope we can come to an arrangement without interrupting the plans of others. May we speak inside? The wind is not pleasant company to the rain.”

 

Accustomed to tradition, Bertrand continues to address him as a Lord as he leads him into the church. “Of course, my Lord.”

 

Vaulted ceilings, doom paintings, and rows upon rows of pews force Harry’s feet to halt their motion. He’s been in a chapel before, but never anything like this. The chapel castle has nothing in comparison to the grandeur of Alaria’s church. No wonder Brielle and her family are never present when services are held. If he was allowed to come here instead of the castle chapel, his nights would be spent in books and not in thick paint. 

 

Caldwell places a gloved hand on his shoulder, “Everything all right?”

 

Harry glances at his friend, dazed yet full of awe. “Yes, this is the first church I’ve been in that isn’t part of a castle. I never knew they were so different.”

 

Beside him, Farah laughs and follows Bertrand to a doorway hidden in the wall to the left of the altar. “You have a lot to learn,  _ my Lord. _ ” 

 

“I see why you like her. What a quick wit! She could make Richard red as blood with a select choice of words.”

 

A playful shove pushes him forward, “Careful, or she might replace you.”

 

Inside the small room, perfumed oils drift between the ceiling and floorboards, a calming smell that reminds him of the gardens and brings a nostalgic smile to his lips. He wonders how many times Brielle has come here to pray and practice her faith. 

 

Bertrand hums as he flips through the pages of a large book. Each page is filled with dark scribbles of names and dates, people who frequent and people who visit on the occasion. “When do you plan on being wed, my Lord?”

 

“The ninth of June, if the date is available. I do not intend to destroy the date of another for my benefit. We have waited many years for this and if we must continue to wait, we will.” 

 

Surprised by his request, Bertrand draws his pale eyes from the page, “Forgive me my Lord, but should your date not be of the utmost importance?”

 

Harry straightens his shoulders and raises his chin, “According to tradition, yes. My wedding date should be of the utmost importance and it should be held within the castle walls. But I am not partial to all of the traditions as I have chosen to marry a bride both beneath and outside of my caste. I understand the strange nature of my request, but I am not a Prince of old nor do I desire to become one. What I want is to do what is best for Alaria and the people within, not what is best for myself.”

 

Another hum as Bertrand folds his hands and slides the heavy tome toward him and points to a small empty space labeled as the ninth of June. “You are everything they say you are. I would be honored to wed you and your betrothed. You need only to fill in the blank space and the date is yours, my Lord.”

 

The quill feels like air between his fingertips, looping over the parchment in a thin scrawl he claimed as his own once he finished his first painting. “I look forward to seeing you again, Bertrand. Thank you for all that you’ve done for Alaria, we would not be here without you.”

 

Farewells are quick to leave his lips, cheerful in tone and quality despite the rush plaguing his bones. He wants to see Briellle and share the news, but there is one last errand he needs to run and it is by far the most important. 

 

Walking back to the castle feels an eternity longer than the walk to the church. Farah left once they neared her home, leaving Caldwell with a chaste kiss and a wink until they next meet. Harry asks if he would like to accompany her and relinquish his duties for the evening, but he insists upon joining him. 

“Are you certain they will welcome you after your last visit?”

 

Harry wants to laugh but the sound is trapped within his lungs, “Not at all. I plan to apologize first and then hope for the best. June has known me since I was a child, I only hope she can forgive my childish actions this late in life.”

 

“And if she does not?”

 

He shrugs and attempts to let the thought disperse with the pollen, “I will have one less surprise for Elle.”

 

Inside the castle, servants bustle from one end of the courtyard to the other and music slips through the walls. Brielle is trapped in painting lessons and his parents are occupied with reconstructing a Kingdom from root to stem in order to accommodate the fractured tradition he’s installed. 

 

The house he had built for Brielle’s family stands bright amongst those of the other servants, with flowers sprouting from boxes beneath the windows and bright chimes hanging from the roof. Today is their day off and he’s praying that one or both are home as his knuckles rasp against the newly furnished wood. 

 

June opens the door, a box of jewelry in her hands. “Oh, I didn’t know you were visiting today. Elle isn’t here she’s--”

 

“In lessons much to her dismay. I attempted to find the most bearable ones to suit her, but who knows what my parents have done with that list. But I am not here for Elle. Well, I am, just not to see her. First I would like to apologize for my behavior the last time I came to your door. It was out of line and I should not have acted in such a manner. You have my deepest apologies.”

 

She looks at him as if she wants to laugh. “Harry, you do not have to apologize. Love makes fools out of everyone, especially those who are want of it.” June steps aside and nods her head toward the back of the house, “You are always welcome in our home. Please, come in. The invitations extend to you as well, Caldwell.”

 

His boots make obnoxious noises against the wooden floor and he resists the urge to grimace. “Is Holden here as well?”

 

“Yes, he is working on a set of windchimes for Delaris. Would you like to speak to him as well? I must admit, I have never seen you so nervous.”

 

Blushing, he nods, “Yes, if he would not mind. What I have come to ask is very important and I would like you both to be present if that is alright.”

 

June is quick to leave and return with her husband, each unsure of their words. The last time he came to speak to them the sky was drenched in midnight ink and his mind was laced with alcohol. 

 

“Holden, I wish to offer my sincerest apologies for our last encounter. It will not happen again.” He holds his tongue until Brielle’s father acknowledges him with a single nod of his head and lips pressed in a fine line. “As I’m sure you both know, I have taken your daughter as my betrothed. Much to my displeasure, I have neglected to take the proper course of action in asking for her hand. I’ve come here today to properly ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage and offer you both a gift, if you will accept my proposal.”

 

Holden softens, but his eyes remain cold as granite and his voice flat. “What do you propose?”

 

Caldwell watches in fascination as Harry drops to his knee and bows his head like a commoner. “I would like to provide you with a large plot of land and the funds to build a house and a business of your own--aside from the crown and all that comes with it. Brielle has spoken fondly of your desire to run your own dress shop and tavern and I want you to able to craft your dreams as she has crafted hers. I would also like to offer three times the offers of dressmakers within the Kingdom in hopes that you will design Brielle’s wedding gown. And a place alongside her in court if it is ever desired.”

 

June’s eyes flood like riverbanks during torrential rains. Harry lifts his head, careful not to move too quickly if Holden wants nothing to do with the man that stole his daughter without permission. He wouldn’t blame him if he did.

 

“Rise.” 

 

Harry’s lips part, stunned to silence as Holden reaches for his hand. “I may not admire your crown, but I greatly admire the kindness you have shown our family, more importantly, my daughter.” 

 

The moment Harry is on his feet, he is pulled into a tight embrace. “We accept your offer. Welcome to the family, son.”


	29. Twenty-Nine

Music dances between instruments and into the mouths of men, women, and children who have come to celebrate her wedding. The ceremony won’t be held for another three days, yet a majority of Alaria has insisted upon creating a new festival they’ve deemed the Golden Rose. Anyone who is not celebrating are tucked inside their homes or taverns elsewhere in the Kingdom. 

 

Harry’s parents directed them not to attend, saying something about assassins and thieves wanting their heads set atop spikes outside the castle’s gates. Although it is true, Brielle is worried about Aylwin and not those who are against a Prince’s marriage to a commoner. Harry hasn’t said a word about his bastard brother since he made the decision to keep his crown. She doesn’t know him well enough to judge, but he’s tried to kidnap her once and there is no telling what he is plotting for revenge. 

 

Harry returns from a round of greetings, a smile plastered to his face. “Elle! Have you tried this  _ wine _ !? I’ve never drank anything so wonderful!” He lays a wet and very unpleasant kiss to her cheek and speaks rather loudly in her ear, “ _ You _ are the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

 

Brielle swallows her tongue, ignoring the blood rising to her cheeks and the spots of laughter that pocket the air around them. “And  _ you _ are not as quiet as you believe yourself to be.” She turns to Caldwell and shakes her head, a laugh teasing her lips. “Do you prefer him drunk?”

 

He pretends to grimace as Harry pokes his left cheek, “Well, he’s certainly a lot more fun this way. From what I’ve heard, I trust you’ll take good care of him in my absence.” 

 

“You’ve heard well. Now,” Brielle steals the wine skin from his hesitant grip, “No more wine for the Prince, else we’ll find him singing without his tunic in the woods.” She’s found him in such a state on two occasions: once when his father removed his painting lessons, and once when his mother told him to play with love is to play with fire and when fire burns, it leaves the host weak and damaged. 

 

At her side, Harry waves to some children and pretends he does not trip over his own feet. “Dance with me, Elle.”

 

Brielle laughs as she takes him by the arm, “Only if you promise not to fall over! Who gave you so much wine?” 

 

“Your father. Said something about saving it for the occasion. What lovely music, why have I not heard music like this before?” He’s dancing to a slow beat that does not exist within the quick strum of the citterns and the leaping flutes, swaying to lessons that have been traced into his bones. 

 

_ Harry’s tutor, Igran brings silence to the room. Even while wearing a smile, he is intimidating. “Where is Brielle?” _

 

_ She hides behind her mother, clutching the half-stitched dress she was working on like it will fall to pieces if she lets go. Whenever someone is called from their workplace, they do not return.  _

 

_ “Where is she needed?” June speaks loud and confident, like Harry’s mother talks to visiting Royals. Brielle watches the tremble in her hands and bites the inside of her cheek.  _

 

_ “Prince Harry needs a dancing partner that is not three times his size. I’ve seen the two of them playing and she is very quick and light on her feet.” _

 

_ Brielle peeks around her mother with a smile brighter than the fabric between her hands. “Dancing? I love dancing!” She doesn’t get to dance much inside the castle, but when festivals are thrown and Harry is locked inside the castle and out of reach, she dances with children she doesn’t know while the adults talk.  _

 

_ Igran smiles and offers his hand, “Then you will love learning how to dance with the Prince.” _

 

_ She wants to run down the corridor and fly into the room like a bird, but Igran is slow in his pace and she must follow him or he might revoke his offer. Harry’s been taking dance lessons for three days for an event no one will specify for him. He says he is the best dancer there is, but from what Igran said she doubts he’s very good at it.  _

 

_ “Has he taught you anything since we’ve begun?” _

 

_ Brielle shakes her head. As much as she’s wanted him to, she hasn’t gathered the courage to ask him to show her. “No, he only speaks of how great he is.” _

_ Igran lifts his right eyebrow and stifles a laugh, “Does he now? I’ve seen fawns that walk better than he dances.” And he isn’t lying. The moment the music begins he steps on her toes and nearly knocks her to the floor. _

 

_ “Move with her, not on your own.”  _

 

_ Harry lifts his chin and straightens his shoulders, making her laugh even though he’s only doing what he’s been taught. The music begins again and he avoids her feet but holds her hand with a pressure strong enough to assure her that he’s afraid of falling. “Just dance. If you fall, I’ll fall with you.” _

 

_ “I won’t fall.” _

 

Harry steps on her toes, apologizing with a laugh. “It seems I still haven’t learned how to do this properly.”

 

“I don’t think you will ever do this properly. But that is alright, I like you despite how lousy you are at dancing.” He could be worse, she’s watched plenty of courtly women dance in the Ballroom and a good number of them stepped on their own dresses and stumbled into other couples. “Did you say you got the wine from my father?” 

 

The music swells and she almost misses his response as he twirls her. “Yes. I don’t believe he likes me too much. Then again, my own parents don’t like me that much so perhaps I’m wrong.” 

 

Brielle attempts to hold her laughter in and fails, “He likes you enough to give you his special wine. Do you know he’s been saving that since I was born? He made it himself.”

 

_ Brielle runs through the servants quarters, giggling as Harry chases her and the adults gasp and shout in their wake.  _

 

_ “You can’t catch me!” Her hair has fallen from her braids and covers her eyes in small wisps that remind her of tall grass in the wind.  _

 

_ Flour flies out of Mae’s hands as they rush by, coating their hair and clothes in marble powder.  _

 

_ “Sorry, Mae!” She’ll helps clean up the mess once Harry is forced to return to etiquette lessons. Without other children around, his lessons take up most of his day and she doesn’t see him as often as she used to.  _

 

_ “I caught you last we—” Harry runs into Holden’s legs, transferring flour to his trousers in splotched patterns. “My apologies, I…” Words stumble over each other on their way out of his throat, “I should have watched where I was—” _

 

_ Brielle can’t see him behind her father and pulls on her sleeves.  _

 

_ “You shouldn’t be down here. Do you know what your mother would do if she knew? What your father would do to my daughter?”  _

 

_ She doesn’t have to look at him to know that he has no idea. Spending time in lessons keeps him away from the rumors about his parents and how frequently servants leave without a word. He knows they aren’t supposed to be friends but he won’t leave her alone either. Many times she’s tried to avoid him in heed of her mother’s warnings, but he always finds her and she can’t say no when he’s the only friend she sees enough to call a friend. _

 

_ Brielle lifts her chin the way she’s seen Harry do when they aren’t playing. “It’s my fault. It won’t happen again, father.” _

 

_ Holden spares a glance behind him, eyebrows pulled together and mouth frozen in a grimace. “See that it doesn’t.” _

 

The music has gotten louder. People dance all around them, laughing and swinging their limbs without a care for who is watching or the strange positions they end up in. Harry doesn’t notice, preferring to follow the steps he knows rather than invent steps of his own. His forehead is burning against hers, “I do, he told me before handing me the skin. Do you know I have a gift for you? I wanted to save it for last.”

 

Dancing slowly has her feet itching to move with a purpose, to set rhythm free and join the celebration far more than she has. “Oh? Does your present involve dancing like everyone else? My toes cannot take much more bruising.”

 

Harry’s grip on her waist tightens as his lips move to her ear, “I’m afraid I don’t know how to.”

 

Brielle takes his face between her hands and kisses him, savoring the shy embrace of his lips and faint remnants of her father’s wine. “Then I shall teach you.”

 

Unmeasured steps prove Harry to be clumsier than ever. He bumps into everyone within a foot of him and stumbles over his own feet as laughter flees his lungs. She doesn’t think she’s seen him so unrestrained outside of the castle, so alive and unafraid of what his parents will think of him when word makes it to their ears. Once he lets the music take him, people flock to him and dance until he is on the opposite side of the clearing, surrounded by drunken laughter and cheers that won’t fade until morning. 

Fingers around her ring, she watches him with a proud smile. 

 

Caldwell finds a place beside her, his clothing plain and better fitted compared to his usual suit of armor. “Who knew defiance could go so far. I rather like the new Harry. Well, the drunk one anyway. He’s still rather boastful when we play cards.”

 

“But we both know you like him, regardless of his boastful nature. I fear he is too likable for his own good.” She gestures to the crowd gathered around him, “If they cheer him on like this too often he’ll be starving when all they offer is smiles.” Tales of Kings drunk on their Kingdom’s pride and approval reach her ears more than Kings who rule in everyone’s interest, not on their own. Queen Anne warns her daily about Harry’s fascination with his people and how it will ruin him if it hasn’t already. How much of it is tales and how much is truth hasn’t revealed itself yet, and she prays Harry will be the exception.

 

“Are you sure you aren’t the bastard child of a Royal in one of the other twelve Kingdoms?”

 

She shakes her head, teeth caught in her smile. “Positive. He’s taught me a lot and I’ve had time to learn by watching and listening. Royals are strange in their habits, but they are habits nonetheless. For example, he’s asked you to bring me back to the castle because I’ve grown tired and you won’t say it directly because we are friends and orders are dull no matter how kindly they are given.”

 

Caldwell laughs and offers her his arm, “I’m convinced you were made for this regardless of what his parents say. Shall we?”

 

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, “You are too kind. We shall.”

 

The halls scream with silence and burning candles. Guards are stationed at every door, even the empty ones, pretending they are made of stone while their feet become one with the earth. Aylwin must be near. 

 

Inside her chambers, her ladies in waiting rush to the door and pull her from Caldwell with childish giggles. “We’ve prepared you a bath with essence of rose and plenty of candles.”

 

Brielle laughs and allows them to lead her deeper into the room. “And what, might I ask, is so special about this bath to bring giggles and blushing cheeks?”

 

“We’ve prepared it in Harry’s chambers. We thought it would be a nice gift before your wedding. With any luck, you’ll have an heir arriving in nine months time.”

True to their word, roses greet her senses and flames illuminate the smaller room. Steam rises in thick drifts, opening her lungs and enticing her fingers to reach for something they will never catch. “You are too sweet! What happens if an heir arrives before then and your gift was for naught?”

 

Clarise laughs as she begins to release Brielle’s corset with quick pulls. “Then we shall have to pray for another heir or heiress shortly after.”

 

“Well, in that case, it makes it easier for me to ask you ladies to remain in my company after the wedding. That is, if you would like to. I will miss you greatly if you leave, you’ve become such good friends.”

 

Eva and Sabina exchange a glance, their smiles giving away whatever secret they planned to hide. “Prince Harry already asked us to stay, and we accepted.”

 

Creaking echoes in the empty room as Harry enters. Brielle thanks them and waves as they exit the room in rushes of colored fabric. 

 

“Dove? Are you in there?”

 

Agreeable water envelopes her skin, embedding itself in every pore up to the top of her breasts. Such a lovely surprise at an unagreeable hour.  “I am. Do you care to join me?”

 

He is inside the tub within moments, pulling her close and kissing her hair. “I’ve missed moments like this. Away from the world and intruding ears.”

 

Brielle hums and allows her eyes to fall shut, “I’ve missed this, too. Your voice is soothing here, calm and free to reside wherever it wants.” Here he doesn’t talk about what he’s supposed to feel, only what resides within his head and his heart in the same breath. The castle could burn to the ground around them and neither would notice, too caught in their conversations to care about anything else. “Will they watch us?”

 

“Watch us?”

 

She sends a spray of water at his face and he takes her hands, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve been told Royal weddings are of the utmost importance and the consummation must be confirmed for it to hold.”

 

Harry laughs and kisses the tops of her hands, “They will not watch us. If they do, they will lose their eyes for stealing as much as a glance of my bride.”

 

“And how will we prove our marriage is complete?”

 

“We will give them an heir with  _ lots  _ of noise.”

 

Brielle smacks his chest, her laughter loud against the stone walls. “You’re mad!”

 

He leans forward and removes a strand of hair from her eyesight. “Madly in love with you.” One kiss is all it takes before her legs are locked around his waist and her fingers caught in his hair. The world can listen all they want, she will never share him with anyone else. His wedding gift can wait a little longer: the heir will still be the same. 


	30. Thirty

Every muscle in Brielle's body is rigid, unwilling to move on the day they should want to move the most. When dawn at last made her appearance, she could not force herself out of bed. All night, she thought about Harry's smile and what he would wear to the ceremony, and now she cannot picture anything the malcontented expression Richard wears whenever she is in his presence. No crown will force him to accept her.

"And why does my daughter look so glum on her wedding day?" June pinches Brielle's left cheek and forces her frown into a delighted smile. "Much better. I know you're worried about what his parents think, but parents do not always make the best decisions. Do you remember when I tried to keep you away from him?"

Brielle nods, glancing at her fingers as if they are still dripping vermillion tears. "My fingers bled for three days. Harry thought it was his fault and sent Dr. Avery to heal them. Later he brought me flowers and he brought them every day after for the entire month. He refused to leave my side in his spare moments and made his parents furious."

Richard kept him in lessons all night for a fortnight, determined to punish him into submissive loneliness. Anne always let him out early, but never with too much time to spare before lights out. Only once has she told her without a formal curtain of falsity that she likes her, and that was before she threatened to send her away should she continue to pursue Harry. "What if she keeps me away from him? Locks me in lessons for the rest of my life, or sends me to some foreign country where I can never see him?"

Fabric rustles behind her as June brushes her hair from her shoulders, "She may be Queen, but that man would never let you out of his sight for such a span of time. He's come to the door three times to ask if you're alright and only a night has passed. Now, unless you want to keep him waiting...it's time to properly dress for the occasion."

An icy storm of blue and cloudy purple appears before her eyes, contained within a dress made for someone of a far higher standing than herself. Metallic strands of intricate flowers line the bodice, waist, and sleeves, dipping with the grace of willows and bleeding hearts. Brielle chokes on her words, "Is that--the flowers are so....is that mine?" She expected Harry to surprise her with something extravagant, but this...this is beyond anything her dreams have created.

Her mother's smile tells a thousand stories as she loosens the strings holding the unworn corset together. "Of course it's yours. I've had the plans for it beneath my pillow since the day you came back blushing from your head to your toes. Harry came to the house and asked if I would craft it for you, the poor lad didn't know I had already started. Is it too much?"

Brielle laughs and throws her arms around her mother, "It's perfect! Thank you, mum."

"I hope the sizes are right. I don't believe he expected them to change quite so soon."

Eyes wide and pale, she retracts her arms and bites the inside of her cheek. No one, save for the midwife, is supposed to know. "What do you mean?"

June twirls limp corset strings between her fingers, her smile caught in a transient memory. "A mother always knows. Have you told him yet?"

"No, I meant to tell him the night of the festival but we got carried away. I'm going to tell him tonight, after the festivities have ended." He's been waiting to hear the news for months, asking her night and day with the hope of a thousand Kings in his smile. The moment he knows, he'll proclaim it to the entire Kingdom regardless of the hour or how scandalous it will sound on the eve of his wedding.

Across the hall, Harry picks at his suit, pulling at strings and embroidery that will not budge. Pacing the room created an ache in his heels that he hasn't felt since Richard forced him to stand at attention after he caught him trying on one of the guards' armor.

Caldwell sighs and knocks his fingers against the doorframe. "If you keep pulling at them like an animal they will eventually yield. Are you that desperate to ruin your coat before your wedding?"

Harry resigns and settles beside the window, looking out at all the people below, gathering in large drones like armies gather for war. After the festival, he believed half the number would be happy to sit inside their homes and learn the news from those who attended the ceremony. Twice the number seem to be gathered outside the chapel, lips moving faster than their hands when they catch sight of him. He waves, lips rising involuntarily as hundreds of hands fly up in response. "There are so many people..."

"Of course, most of Alaria believes you to be the next Golden King. They would climb mountains to catch a glimpse of you on your wedding day. Since when have crowds rallied your nerves so much?"

"Not mine, Brielle's. She is wary of so much attention. I believe my parents are responsible for that, threatening her on my behalf, as if she were a poison. I don't want her to feel caged in like I have my entire life." He clasps his hands behind his back and turns to face Caldwell with a mischievous grin on his lips. "What color do you suppose her dress is?"

He laughs and raises an inquisitive eyebrow, "You do not know?"

"I wanted to be surprised. She does not favor red despite the relation to her roses and white is too delicate. Perhaps green? She's always liked the odd color in my eyes." In truth, he's hoping she'll be bathed in rare purple. Determined to show his family that she can be everything they are and more despite her bloodlines. Richard would faint on his throne.

"Knowing her, she will surprise us all. I'm certain her mother made something clever with colors and flowers alike. She's probably tearing at the seams as anxious to see you as you are to see her."

Brielle is tearing at her dress again, pulling the strings as if they've done her harm. "Why do you do that?"

She looks up at him, eyebrows pulled together and paired with a grimace that looks more like a frown. "Why do you ask so many questions?"

Harry shrugs his shoulders and looks at his shoes, "I want to know things. You're not like the girls I've heard about--the ones they want me to marry."

She continues to pick at her dress, eyes intent on watching the loose threads break free. "Do you want to marry the girls you hear about?" Every nerve ending in her body wants him to say no. He's her friend, but there's a strange feeling that appears every time he smiles or takes her hand.

"Not in the slightest. I want to marry you, I've always meant that." He kicks the dirt to force her attention back to him and not the new dress she's tearing holes in. Ocean eyes meet his and all he wants to do is kiss her, "I still mean that."

Brielle balances her weight on her toes and kisses him. Her lips aren't on his for more than a second at most before she's gone, running across the courtyard in her cloudy blue dress.

"She's going to wear blue. I never asked her mother, but she's going to wear blue, I'm certain of it."

Three heavy knocks echo in the small room. "Prince Harry? They are ready to begin the ceremony."

Caldwell opens the door to reveal a servant he has never seen before. He's not as young as the others, frown lines mark his forehead and his skin resembles tanned leather.

Harry straightens his shoulders and wears his best Royal smile. "May I ask your name? I'm afraid I have not made your acquaintance prior to this moment." Guards are stationed everywhere and knowing that he slighted his bastard brother, he is troubled by unfamiliar faces.

"Keaton, my Lord."

Something about the way he retains eye contact bothers Harry enough to signal Caldwell by twisting his ring. "Pleased to meet you, Keaton. I will be down in a moment, thank you for relaying the message."

He waits until he can no longer hear footsteps to address his concerns, "How many guards do we have on rotation?"

"One hundred and twelve, counting myself."

Rain begins to fall, drumming on the roof like his father drums his fingers when he is agitated. "And how many are protecting Brielle and her family?"

"Six."

Panic forces his eyes to widen, "Six? You're telling me that only six men are guarding my betrothed and her family out of one hundred and twelve?" If Aylwin wants to make a move, six men will not stop him: they will hardly get in the way with the sell-swords and thieves he has working for him. "Who changed my orders? Where are the other twelve I hand picked stationed?"

Caldwell hesitates, staring at him as if he'll shatter the longer he looks. "Your father instructed they guard you and your mother instead. I protested, but as he knows I favor you, his word is law. I've assigned myself to her guard. You have my word, I will protect her no matter the cost."

Knots run through his hands, tearing at his scalp and forcing his mind to slow. Richard had no right to reassign the guards on his wedding day. Harry closes his eyes, willing them to seal themselves shut the way wax seals envelopes. "Please keep her safe. I do not care if I'm in danger, she is your priority." Aylwin already tried to take her once and nearly succeeded. Now that he's severed every chance he had of claiming the throne, he'll want her blood or worse. "Swear it."

The answer does not come as fast as he expects it to. Harry's nails dig into his palms, eight burning crescents to contain his terror. "I need you to swear it."

Crowns and gold mean nothing to him weighed against Brielle. If Aylwin manages to get his hands on her, he will hold everything he needs to break him. Prince or not, her life is far more important than his.

"I swear it." Brielle will be furious if he is harmed in her wake, but she will understand. "Shall we attend your wedding, or would you prefer to continue stabbing yourself with your own fingernails?"

Strained laughter halts mid-air, "Attending my wedding sounds far more appealing. Forgive my outburst, I did not intend to be so...so much like my father." Harry grimaces as they exit the small room to join the mass of people waiting, cramped in every aisle and stuffed into every pew. Voices carry high into the rafters, blending words in a strange chaos that produces only roaring noise.

"Once she enters, I will stand at her side. No one will touch her but you."

Harry isn't listening, allowing his body to move as his mind travels elsewhere. Brielle will walk down that small aisle looking like she descended from the clouds, with her ocean eyes bright and her smile rivaling the shine of every jewel on earth. And in only a matter of minutes, she will be his wife--his Princess and his Queen. Everything she's dreamed of since they first learned what it meant to love someone else without boundaries or obligations.

All eyes in the building are watching him fidget with his clothing. Nothing is wrong with his attire, no buttons are out of place. Still, he pulls at every inch of fabric, eyes fixated on a door that has yet to move.

Brielle used to fidget in every moment they spent alone. She always moved her hands, constantly looking for something to touch, a distraction from what could happen if someone caught them. How many times has she ruined dresses in anticipation? Is she ruining her dress at this very moment?

"A Prince does not fidget." Queen Anne speaks loudly enough for his ears and the guards to hear.

"Neither do Queens, but you fidget at every event. This is my day, allow me to act as I am and not as a mindless puppet." She will not ruin this for him as she has ruined his birthdays and balls held in his honor.

The doors open and the room falls into silence the way birds cease singing when a predator is near. Brielle takes two steps before he drops to his knees, smiling like he did when he kissed her for the first time in the rose garden.

She blushes, laughing softly to herself as he removes his crown and places it beside his feet. If hundreds of eyes weren't watching her, she would scold him and force him to his feet. Instead, she walks with her head high and cheeks the color of crimson dreams. When she reaches him, he kisses her hand and rises to his feet before she admonishes him for relinquishing his role so quickly.

"You are too much."

Before the priest can take his stand, Harry laughs and takes her hand in his. "Only for you, my Queen."

Words fail to register in his ears. All he can think about is Brielle's smile and the way her kiss would feel the moment they are announced together as husband and wife. Richard is cleaning the dirt from his nails when the priest asks if there is anyone who can show just cause as to why they should not be wed.

Amid the silence, a sword hisses as it is pulled from its sheath. "We object in the name of Aylwin, the bastard son of King Richard the first. And we will take the bride as payment for the wrongs done to the true King of Alaria."

Harry reaches for a sword that has been missing since midmorning. Brielle didn't want him to wear it since she saw what he did to the man in the dungeon. And look where it's gotten him: defenseless against an army he should have seen coming.

Three swords are at her throat before Caldwell can blink. Silence coats the room like death hangs over a corpse. Harry swallows his fear, straightening his spine and raising his shoulders. "Take her now and you lose your lives."

"At whose hands?"

"Mine."

Aylwin's men disregard his threat and pull Brielle toward the door. Harry's guards draw their swords, only to be outnumbered by concealed men masquerading as King's guard.

"Say the words."

The priest blanches, white as the legends of snow covered demons lurking in the woods to steal the souls of thieves.

Pressure builds in Harry's jaw until he's afraid it might break. "Wed us now!"

Words break and fall together like waves against the shoreline. Harry says the words without a thought, fighting his guards to reach Elle before she is taken away from him. "I do!"

Brielle allows her feet to follow her captors, fully aware of what will happen if she struggles. "I do!"

A nameless man brings the but of his sword down against her temple. The crack hammers his ears as they drag her away.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. Long live your reign."

Caldwell breaks through the crowd, armor clanking with every rushed step after the new Princess. Screams shatter the building silence, bringing vibrant color to Harry's ears as he shouts at his guard, punching at their armor and commanding they follow Aylwin's men. Each man refuses him an answer, holding his limbs against cold steel and forcing him to watch the love of his life be carried away by a monster.

"Let me go!"

Richard says something and their hands tighten around his arms. "Let me go or so help me God, I will have your heads on spikes by morning."

Six hands release him and Harry shoves the guard nearest to the King. "Your orders were to protect her! He may be King, but there is not an ounce of regard in his soul for you or your families. She is my family, you will aid me in her safe return or you will lose your lives. Choose your King."

All three men stand dumbfounded at the altar as he stalks toward the chapel doors.

The Queen rises from her chair, head high and jawline firm. "Where do you think you're going?"

Harry doesn't spare a single glance toward the makeshift thrones, "To get my wife."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of those who have read this far, thank you! I am just beginning the editing process and will be uploading those chapters again with an asterisk beside the chapter number if you would like to read the edited (and much better) version of Disobedience :) Thank you again!


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